


Practice Resurrection

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Category: Hannibal (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Being Manipulative, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Care of Magical Creatures, Dark Arts, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hogwarts, Hogwarts AU, Kid!Fic, M/M, Magic, Mischa Lecter Dies, Quidditch, Serial Killers, Seven Years Together, Sortof, The Dark Hogwarts AU No One Asked For, Twin Wands, Violence, Will Graham Loves His Dogs, Will Loves Hannibal, Will is Confused, dark!Hannibal, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-09 21:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 57,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13489731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: Hannibal Lecter is from refined stock: his parents pure-bloods killed for their money, his uncle a member of Wizarding high society that had granted him the opportunity for a life well lived as his own powers continue to grow. But underneath the surface of Hannibal Lecter lies a beast, coiled and waiting to spring at the first proper moment.Will Graham is confused. Mostly. Not sure how he ended up here, or how he became a wizard at all, or how it came to be that Hannibal Lecter, top of their class in nearly everything, seems to find him compelling enough to have taken an interest in him. But he's here to learn, even as things begin to take a dark turn at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.Hogwarts AU





	1. Year 1: A Brief Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely the most self-indulgent thing I've written. We'll see where it goes! 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy, as always, please take a moment to R and R, I live for your comments, I promise.

He blinked, rather unimpressed by the stodgy man in front of him, dressed like an eccentric vagabond. But Hannibal could see also the years of work ingrained in his weathered fingers as he fiddled with the hundreds of boxes splayed across his shop, his fingertips practically worn to pure callouses with the frequency of his work. If the sign could be believed, and Hannibal had no reason to doubt it, then more than two millennia of the craft ought to have been enough to ensure some quality to the work for certain.

“An interesting case.” He wasn’t quite sure if the wandmaker was speaking to him, his uncle, or himself at this point. They had been in the shop for nearly twenty minutes and he was yet to be handed a wand to test for his own. He was willing to be patient, though, keeping his hands clasped together behind his back, at only age eleven, he still towered over the near-spritely figure who was in pure control of his destiny at this point. He supposed that other students, such as the boy they had seen leaving earlier, crying on his way out, face riddled with fear, would be concerned by this point that there was not a wand for them. That they weren’t truly going to be a wizard after all and that it was all a folly and a waste of time.

But a glance at his uncle silenced unsurfaced doubt. Their bloodline was pure, and his efficacy for magic was clear in his already ardent control of things as a young child. His uncle was more than pleased: his talents seeming to rival even that of students who had already spent time at Hogwarts though he would be restricted in his use of magic as he was now of school age. But that was no matter, he intended to fully invest himself at school, refine his craft, and in the off-time work on developing other necessary skills and prepare himself for a life as wizard of status and importance. Perhaps a ministry career was in his future, his uncle had mentioned it often enough. His Aunt had made the suggestion that perhaps he should look more into business, similar to her own family back in Japan that specialized in the breeding of questionably legal magical creatures. He had decided it was perhaps best to keep his options open.

“Would you like some assistance in looking, Sir?” He asked smoothly, finally beginning to feel the start of fidgeting. They still had plenty of shopping to do before the day was done, and he knew his uncle had wanted to return to their estate long before dark.

The man turned to him, for once his face almost serene as if an epiphany had come to him at the words. “Come with me, my boy.” He gestured madly, scurrying towards the dark back of the shop. “Unusual combination, but it just might work.”

He walked quietly, leaving his uncle behind, and watched as the man rustled through boxes covered in a fine layer of dust on a shelf that looked as though it might not have been touched in years. “You are pure-blood, yes?” The man asked, his first real direct.

“Yes.”

“That man is not your father.”

“My uncle.”

“I remember your parents. Buying their wands.” He passed down the box. “Your father: Unicorn hair, 10 inches, willow. Your mother: unicorn hair as well, 8 inches, birch.” He stepped down, his beady eyes boring straight ahead, as if his rather prolific memory had caused him some uneasiness. “Yours however, something different.”

“Should we take others?” According to his uncle, sometimes it took a dozen or more tries to find the right fit.

“No.” And he had no choice but to follow the man back to the front. “Give it a wave if you would.”

He watched as his uncle’s gaze fell on him, intrigued. He pulled the cover from the box, a long wand, thin and carved with some intricate design at the base was nestled inside, the wood nearly black. He lifted it from its covers, feeling immediately a warmth flood through his fingers, and as he waved it, sparks of pure gold flew from the end. “13 inches, Yew, Dragon Heartstring. Unyielding.” The man said, as if that weren’t completely uncommon language, and his uncle eagerly paid the thirteen galleons before they could leave.

“Best of luck to you this year, Mr. Lecter.”

 

 

He swallowed, watching the old man with the long beard who had come to visit him and his dad at the Army base watch him from behind a tall goblet of what he assumed was wine. The man’s eyes seemed to dart between focusing on him and him alone and the rest of the room, full of motion as he shuffled in with the rest of the first-year students.

The professor leading them in paused and they stopped with her, milling around in a sort of semi-circle around the front of the room where he could feel the eyes of older students they had walked through on the back of their heads. He could feel the nervous undercurrent from the people around him, the constant fidgeting nearly overwhelming to his overworked sensibilities. Then, as if that Hell weren’t enough, the hat the woman who had led them was holding began to sing.

He couldn’t hear very well, but he could understand the implications well enough. He had looked through his books before he came, sitting up late nights with the living room lamp on while his dad sipped whiskey across from him, listening as he offered tepid explanations of the world he was about to become a part of. As they worked through one of the books, the one about his new school, it became clear that what the headmaster had said was entirely true and it explained so many of the things that had happened in his life, but that didn’t make this part any easier. The train had been hard enough, with his father standing on the platform in his uniform, waving at him with one arm while a throng of parents, all of whom seemed to be dressed in strange robes and carrying younger children around on carts while his father had stood alone. He had pressed his face to the exit door and waved back before stepping away, thinking someone might think he was strange for doing so.

He had found a compartment to sit in, one with a very loud boy named Franklyn and a very unhappy boy named Tobias, neither of whom had taken must interest in him since it was nearly impossible to get a word in edgewise for Franklyn except at the beginning when they had told him their names. So instead, he had spent a long time staring at his wand, and then out the window, wondering if American wizards took a train to school, too, and how things might have been different if his father hadn’t been moved.

He jerked up when he heard familiar words, “Ravenclaw” “Hufflepuff” “Gryffindor” “Slytherin”. He had read about them, the founders of the school. Apparently also the houses they would be sorted into while here, the witch up front had told them. And now the hat was singing about them. A very strange way of choosing classes, to be certain.

“Bloom, Alana!” The whole room fell silent, and the older people (must be teachers) upfront all leaned forward slightly in their chairs. By looking at their ages, Will certainly hoped that the Wizarding World had hearing aids. A girl from the train, he had seen her only in passing, stepped forward. She had long dark hair, and Will blushed when she made eye contact with him, but she also clearly knew what to do and went and sat on the seat where the hat had been before it finished its song.

“Intelligent, yes, that I can see.” Will jerked back when the hat started talking, blushing further when he realized he was the only one who did so, though another little boy had seemed equally surprised by it. “A good mind. Sharp. But there’s something else. Something perhaps stronger. Difficult to place.”

There was a long pause where the room seemed to be collectively holding its breath. “Gryffindor!” The hat yelled and one of the four long tables behind them erupted in cheers. Will knew Gryffindor, the house of the brave knights. Maybe he would be a Gryffindor, too, but at the moment, he didn’t feel very brave. Tobias Budge from the train went to Slytherin on the opposite side of the room, which cheered in a far more reserved manner.

Jack Crawford was sorted into Gryffindor almost as soon as the hat touched his head, followed by another girl who’s name Will didn’t quite catch. He frowned. Did most people get sorted into Gryffindor? But then Franklyn went to Hufflepuff, and a boy name Bryan Fuller went to Hufflepuff and the woman with hat called out his name. “Graham, Will.”

He might have been overestimating the man’s interest, but it seemed that the old man leaned forward quite a bit at his name being called to watch closely. The woman with the hat did not smile, but placed it on him as soon as he climbed into the seat. He could feel the eyes of everyone watching him when he sat down and he swallowed hard, trying not to seem nervous.

“Interesting.” The hat said, quite an odd sensation to have it moving on his head. “I see…difficulty. For you, yes, difficulty ahead. Empathy. Courage, too, spirit.” The hat hummed on his head, pushing a loose curl into one of his eyes. “Sharpness. A strange mind, an odd one to place, indeed. Empathy. Not something I see every year. Not like yours anyway.” There was a long pause, and he held his breath in anticipation, the rest of the room doing the same.

“Ravenclaw!” It said and one of the tables erupted into the same loud cheering. He was the first Ravenclaw that year, and as he pushed through the crowd of other first years, he was greeted with slaps on the back and even a couple of whoops from the people at his table. He felt something strange, though, and looked up as a girl named Beverly Katz was being sorted to a pair of eyes on him. A tall, thin blonde boy that looked far too serious to be eleven but was waiting on his turn to be sorted like everyone else. There was almost something strange about him, and Will clutched his wand reflexively only to see the boy smile slightly and guilt to flood him.

Before he could do anything else, the table erupted into cheers and Beverly Katz was sitting across from him, grinning like mad as she received the same welcome. He smiled back, and tried to focus on the rest of the ceremony, but the boy’s eyes stayed on him for most of the rest of the crowd thinning down into their houses.

“Lecter, Hannibal.” Will’s eyes widened. Who the hell named their child Hannibal? And with a last name like Lecter? He’d never stand a chance at not being harassed by older students. But to his surprise, it was the blonde boy, walking with an air of refinement up to the front of the room. He watched the old man behind them lean forward, the same as he had done with Will, clearly curious as to what might happen.

“Slytherin.” The hat had scarcely misplaced a hair on Hannibal’s head when it came off again and the Slytherin table disappeared into cheering. He watched him walk over their, greeted by older students as if they already knew him, and he swallowed one more time as Hannibal’s eyes flickered to him with a grin.

 

 


	2. Year 1:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Thanks for the great response on the first chapter, I'm glad you all enjoyed it! And I hope you all enjoy this chapter as well! 
> 
> Please R and R, your comments keep me writing and I love to hear what you have to say! :D

“Did you do something to piss that guy off?” Beverly’s poorly whispered question startled Will so much that he jumped halfway through his attempt at a spell and instead blasted something out of the end of his wand, sending one of his quills flying off their shared workspace.

“What guy?” He looked up, squinting through his glasses at Beverly, who couldn’t hide her amused smile as he hurried to grab the quill when Professor McGonagall looked up. He looked around her to where Hannibal Lecter had his eyes fixed on him, head cocked slightly to the side, though he did look away when Will looked in his direction. This was a repeat of breakfast when Will had been trying to eat a sausage after dropping his knife to the ground and was forced to try and cut it with a fork. If he wasn’t mistaken, the whole ordeal has brought the broad grin to Hannibal’s sharply cut face, even though he hid it well by glancing away and speaking to an older girl as if he hadn’t been looking at Will.

“I don’t know what his problem is.”

“Too much money.” Beverly said, not looking up from her notes. “You get weird kids when you have too much money and your blood’s too pure like Lecter’s. No wonder he stares so much.” She wasn’t bothering to hide her voice at all and Will could have sworn he saw Hannibal’s jaw clench.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t bother me, really.” Will said hurriedly and to his relief, the jaw relaxed. At least that confirmed that Hannibal probably had supersonic hearing.

“Slytherin’s are bad news. Better watch your back.” One of the two Hufflepuff boys behind them said, his lips catching on the S in Slytherin. At least he was better whispering than Beverly, and neither Hannibal nor any of the other Slytherins reacted to his words.

“Shut up, Brian,” Said his desk mate, who was looking over the Transfiguration alphabet in the front of his book. “Not all Slytherins are bad. Wasn’t your grandpa in Slytherin?”

“That’s a rumor!” Brian said back, and will looked up to see his face turning red under a mop of curly hair, shorter than his own and tighter in the curls. “Not all pure-bloods are in Slytherin.”

“What are pure-bloods, exactly?” Will said, deciding now the best time to ask since it had come up twice in conversation and he still hadn’t been able to figure out what that was.

“Somebody who’s whole family are wizards.” Beverly began, finally looking up.

“Or Squibs!” The Hufflepuff boy who was not Brian said.

“Or Squibs.” Beverly conceded, “Some wizards think they’re better because their families are pure-blood. But it’s all hogwash.”

Will grinned, relieved that Beverly did not agree with the sentiment. According to his father, no one on his side of the family had ever been a wizard and he had never seen proof of any sort of that behavior from Will’s mother either, before she left. It wasn’t anything she had ever talked about.

“I’m a pure-blood, for example.” She said, and glared pointedly at not-Brian. “Not all Purebloods are Slytherins,” She did drop her voice this time. “Just pure-bloods like Lecter who think all of that actually amounts to something.”

“Maybe that’s why he keeps staring at me…” Will wondered out loud, trying to riddle through it.

“You're pure-blood, too?” Not-Brian asked. “I’m Jimmy by the way, Jimmy Price. My brother Timmy is in Ravenclaw with you.” Will vaguely remembered one of his bunkmates being named Timmy, disappearing about an hour before they were supposed to go to bed and not returning until long after Will must have fallen asleep when he heard him come in.

“No,” Will shook his head. “Neither of my parents are wizards.”

“Muggle-born, then.” Beverly informed him. “Then their’s half-bloods who have one of each.”

Will nodded, blushing a bit that he didn’t know the terminology. “Lot of rubbish, like I said,” Beverly added, “Since not a single one of us, not even Hannibal Lecter, have managed to turn this into a needle.

Will turned again, looking back at his match sitting patiently on his desk. In truth, he hadn’t tried to turn it into a needle yet, despite thinking he understood the general gist of the process after watching Professor McGonagall who Will thought might be the most brilliant person he had met in a while. She was, however, quite intimidating and was currently making her way around the desks to check on people’s progress since the period was nearly over.

If he did this, it would be his first attempt at using magic intentionally. He was nervous: what if they were all wrong and you did need to be a pure-blood or a half-blood or someone not like him to use magic? He watched Beverly make the correct motions with her light colored, nearly green wooded wand, inlaid with curls of wood all around the stem, and watched as the match did nothing but twitch slightly and give off a small glint in the already dimly lit room.

He took out his wand, still not quite understanding why it was so long. Maybe the doctor was wrong and he would be over six feet tall after all, but for now, it just seemed absurdly large in fingertips, the wood nearly black, a strange symbol carved into the base. He swallowed, paying one last glance to his notes and taking in a shallow breath to finally give it a try.

 

 

If Tobias Budge did not rapidly develop the concept of personal space, Hannibal had decided he might have to set fire to the boy’s curtains in the dormitory later that evening. It seemed as though each time that Hannibal would move to attempt to transfigure his match, Tobias’ elbow would end up on his arm or embedded in his ribs under his robes. If perhaps the boy had managed to transfigure the match, the trials would have at least been worth it. But sadly, that was not the case and Hannibal was instead enduring such slights for seemingly no reason other than Tobias’ inability to control himself.

He had wanted to share his desk with someone else. Someone more interesting, for certain. But when he had arrived, the seat next to Will Graham, the small Ravenclaw boy he had been observing since his sorting, was taken by a girl that Hannibal recognized from her parents work at the ministry. Incredibly smart, well-liked, and, as he had overheard, firmly in the belief that Hannibal’s family had far too much money and that he was strange. He had been angry at first, but was now unsure if being strange, if the typical person at this school was the norm, was such a bad thing after all.

He glanced over and saw Will Graham’s face paling as he steeled himself for what must be his either first or final attempt to transfigure the match. Hannibal hoped it was his first, it would be terribly disappointing if Will Graham were not good at magic. In his sideways look, he also saw Professor McGonagall approaching their table and took an extra half-step from Tobias’ wild wand wavings to await her arrival. He had not been able to practice either, but if he couldn’t do something so seemingly simple on the first try, he didn’t think he deserved recognition.

“Better try it now when she’s not watching.” He heard Beverly Katz attempt to whisper again, again failing rather badly at keeping her voice down. “No one else has managed it either.” His view of their table was obscured for a moment by the arrival of Professor McGonagall, but as soon as she had arrived, an excited gasp came from the other table.

“Will, you did it!” And the whole room seemed to go completely silent as Professor McGonagall stepped away from their table to where Will Graham’s stunned face was looking at the table. She picked up the item in front of him and held it up excitedly, showing it to all of them.

“10 points to Ravenclaw, Mr. Graham.” She said, and the Ravenclaw’s in the room, typically more reserved than Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, nearly whooped at the news. “Excellent form!” And she gave him a warm smile that Hannibal hadn’t known she was capable of before stepping away.

“Show me how to do that!” He heard the Hufflepuff boy behind Will Graham say, but had no time to focus on that. He needed to concentrate. His hunch had been correct, and if he wanted to hold Will Graham’s attention, his needle would need to be just as well as Will’s own. He would be an interesting friend, and Hannibal had no intention of letting him slip away because he couldn’t match the boy in magical skills. He was a Lecter after all, and had things to prove to more people than only Will Graham.

“That will do, Mr. Budge.” Thankfully the professor put an end to Tobias’ ridiculous wand waving and he stepped aside, shoulders slumped. “Anything from you, Mr. Lecter?” Hannibal smiled, his calm placating smile that did nothing to change her mood at all.

He concentrated, speaking the incantation clearly, one hand behind his back, and in a swift motion, the match spun around its head and transfigured in front of them into a sewing needle that looked almost identical to the set his mother used to quilt, though there was a small bit that still seemed to be made of wood and it was not able to catch as much of the gleam off the lights as he wanted.

“Excellent work, Mr. Lecter.” Professor McGonagall said, and though her words drew excited murmuring from the other Slytherins, her face didn’t seem to hold the same warmth it did for Will Graham. No matter, he had succeeded in his goals since he could feel Will Graham’s eyes on him, curious. “10 points to Slytherin as well.”

“If you will all be seated, I will give you your assignment for the weekend!” She returned to the front of the class and Hannibal settled back into his seat, ignoring Tobias’ attempts to speak to him and instead writing down the homework in clear script. He could feel other people’s eyes on him, splitting their attention between him and Will, even though he was certain that would lead to several people missing their assignments later that night. None of that mattered anyway, until he stood to leave and looked over to see Beverly Katz pulling Will along to their next class.

But most of all, even as his next period meant a Will Graham-free Potions hour, he watched as Will Graham’s gaze flittered away nervously from him as he looked up. He felt excitement swelling up in his chest: He might make a friend perhaps, a real friend.


	3. Year 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! It's a little more Will-centric, establishing himself and others as well, with more in-depth explorations to come. 
> 
> I think timing wise we might are going to be between Voldemort and the beginning of the Harry Potter series. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter, please R and R, let me know what you think!

“May I sit here?” Will looked up from Beverly’s ramblings to see Hannibal Lecter standing across the table from him. Will glanced over at the Slytherin table where a gaggle of students were staring wide-eyed at Hannibal who was waiting patiently on an answer.

“If you’re sitting here because your friends think it’ll be funny…” Beverly interjected.

“I assure you, that is not the case.” Hannibal said and gave what Will assumed was an attempt at a warm smile.

“Yeah, okay.” Will finally answered, only feeling a slight stiffening in Beverly beside him. He was going to have to ask how much she actually knew about Hannibal Lecter since whatever her hostility was seemed to extend well beyond what they had seen in their joint Herbology, Transfiguration, and Charms classes. The Slytherins weren’t the only ones watching, and in a matter of minutes, Jimmy and Brian had gotten up from the end of the Hufflepuff table and had sat down as well: Brian next to Beverly, and Jimmy technically next to Hannibal though he was clear of him by nearly a foot.

“All we need is a Gryffindor.” Beverly said, and poked Will in the ribs. “If Jack Crawford comes over here, I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.” Hannibal spoke, cutting Beverly off even as Brian dissolved into giggles. Beverly and Jack and Will had ended up working as a group of three in Potions class after Jack’s partner Katie Purnell had gotten something spilled all over her. After Professor Snape had sneered at her for making silly mistakes that led to have a hole burned through her cloak, she had gone to the medical wing to be certain she wasn’t actually injured and Jack had ended up at their table. After nearly an hour of Beverly doing her best to hold their potion together while Jack scrutinized Will over what it was like to be raised as a muggle, their relationship was strained to say the least. Will wasn’t sure how he felt about Jack either, though he didn’t seem particularly hostile. “I’m Hannibal Lecter.”

He didn’t extend a hand across the table, which at first Will thought was a little rude before he realized it was an effort not to reach over everyone’s food. “Will Graham.” He responded, looking up through the top frame of his glasses as Hannibal smiled, if the slight upturning of his lips could be called that.

“Beverly Katz.” Beverly said, her voice tense.

“I believe we’ve met before at a ministry function,” Hannibal said, “It is nice to speak with you again.” Will watched Beverly blink in surprise and undisguised flattery at having been recognized. But it flitted away just as quickly.

“You as well.” She said, and stabbed a wobbly bit of eggs to avoid talking.

“Brian Zeller.” Brian said, right over top of Jimmy’s, “Jimmy Price.”

Hannibal gave them both a level smile before slicing off the end of his breakfast sausage and taking a perfectly sized bite, chewing slowly with his focus back on Will.

“Did you finish the Herbology essay?” Will asked him after the silence felt like it was nearly choking the table.

“Yes. I always found mandrakes to be of some interest,” Hannibal said after swallowing his food. “What did you choose to write on?”

“Wolfsbane.” Will mumbled, wishing very badly that he knew what a Mandrake was. But their introductory Herbology text had said nothing of it, and he had no clue. “It seemed…useful.” He officially felt ridiculous.

“That reminds me, we need to order some things for potions from the supply store in Diagon Alley.” Beverly said, and Jimmy handed her a bit of parchment from his stack of books to make a list. “What was it Professor Snape said?”

“Bay leaves?” Jimmy said, his face scrunched up.

“Isn’t that what you put in chili?” Brian said, and the two dissolved into bickering.

“My uncle is already mailing a large amount of supplies. If you would like to share in the stock, I don’t mind at all.” Hannibal said. “There should be more than enough for most of us…”

“My dad’s already sending mine!” Brian said. “I sent him an owl yesterday.”

“Same here.” Said Jimmy, before going back to their argument.

“The two of you then. I’m happy to share.” Will felt his face redden, slightly glad that Hannibal had intervened since he wasn’t exactly sure how to get more money out of the account that Dumbledore had given him money from to get his books and robes and wand and cauldron, but also not wanting to impose.

“We don’t want to just take your stuff.” Beverly said on his behalf. “Are you sure you have enough stuff?”

“I enjoy potion-making on my own time, so I’ll certainly have extra. I promise it isn’t an imposition.”

“Yeah, okay.” Will said for the second time that morning. “Just let me know in Charms where we can meet you before class tomorrow.”

“Excellent.” Hannibal said and took his final bite of breakfast. “I’m sorry to leave, but I really do need to go. I’m afraid I forgot my Defense Against the Dark Arts text in the common room.”

“That’s okay.” Will said around a bite of eggs, realizing too late he was talking with his mouthful so he covered his lips with the back of his hand, “Thanks for eating with us. And for offering to share…”

“You’re more than welcome.” Hannibal stood, his dishes vanishing as soon as he had moved back. “I’ll see you all later then. Will.” And with a short nod, he disappeared.

A brief moment of silence, even between Jimmy and Brian. “What in the bloody hell was that?” Beverly said and the moment broke, leaving Will as bewildered as he had been setting foot into Hogwarts.

 

 

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Will found that while he perhaps preferred the more structured approach to teaching by Professor McGonagall, he quite enjoyed learning Charms. Beverly clearly had a knack for them, and though this was only their second day learning levitation, she had already made a feather as well as several heavier objects float with ease. Will had mastered the feather and was starter on slightly heavier things, with this current attempt letting him float a rather perfectly rectangular brick off the desk.

Professor Flitwick was extremely happy with their table, which he and Beverly shared with two other Ravenclaws named Margot Verger and Elton Stammetz who was a very quiet, reserved boy who did not seem to like many of the other students very well. He was, however, seemingly decently good at magic and had managed to levitate his feather all the way to the ceiling. He had told Will in the dormitory, completely unprompted, that the only subject he really liked was Herbology and that he hadn’t written a single word of their first Potions essay that was due the morning after. Will had just nodded at him and tried to ignore how he stared while Will labored over his parchment until he couldn’t take it anymore and closed the bed curtains. He was glad he had Beverly down in the Common Room at times like those.

He was especially happy with Beverly, who was top of their house in Charms, and as head of Ravenclaw house, he was quite ecstatic with her work. He had lavished praise on Will as well, who was more than happy that Beverly had gotten some well-deserved praise and had earned ten points for Ravenclaw in the process. Perhaps less personally happy and more academically ecstatic, Professor Flitwick was currently hovering over by the long table of Slytherins next to theirs. In the chair closest to theirs, Hannibal Lecter stood, grasping his wand between his long fingers as if it were extremely delicate even while it levitated a whole stack of books from the floor.

With each book added by Tobias Budge, who was working on his own mastery next to Hannibal, Professor Flitwick let out another excited squeak. For all his work, Hannibal was the only match for Beverly.

“You think you can levitate books for me, Graham?” Beverly said. “Like that.” She let down the large, haphazard pieces of wood she was lifting.

“It’s not a contest, Bev.” He said back.

“Course not.” She replied with a Cheshire grin. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun. Now come on.”

She snagged all of their combined books together and stacked them neatly on top of each other. “Can we borrow yours?” She said to Margot who nodded, vaguely uninterested which is how she seemed to live most of her life. Elton pushed his over too, letting his feather flutter for a few moments in the air before catching it again.

“Wingardium Leviosa.” Beverly said, with perfect pronunciation and form, and her and Will’s books lifted into the air.

“Alright, you add these.” She gestured to the stack, careful not to break her concentration on the large floating stack.

Will did as she requested, happy at his own progress being able to levitate the books so readily onto the stack. One by one, Beginner’s Potions and Beginner’s Transfiguration and a Guide to Herbology: Year 1 all began to be stacked until there was nearly fifteen floating books in front of their desk. Beverly was concentrating hard, her grip fierce on her wand, and for the first time, Will looked around the room to where the rest of class was watching with serious faces as he continued to levitate more, now from the people who sat behind them as Tobias continued to do the same for Hannibal, who’s stack was evenly matched.

One more book, a guide to Charms, the thickest book that they had been required to get, finally felled Beverly’s stack at nearly twenty-two covers in total. The Slytherin half of the class erupted into cheers as Tobias layered the 23rd book on Hannibal’s, but Professor Flitwick looked radically thrilled with each of their efforts. “Fifteen points each!” He yelled, running around to help collect the fallen books. “And five each to Mr Lecter, Mr. Graham, and Mr. Budge!” Will didn’t think he had ever heard someone so excited and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Bev, that was great!” He said, and she grinned at him.

“It was indeed an excellent contest, Ms. Katz.” Hannibal Lecter stepped over, extending a hand to her which she took with what almost seemed like sarcastic graciousness, but perhaps that was just Bev’s demeanor.

“I prefer Beverly.”

“Beverly, then.” Hannibal gave a little lilt of his head.

“Excellent work today, everyone!” Professor Flitwick said loudly from the front of the room, having returned to its normal order of things. “Excellent work indeed! Nothing better than a little friendly competition! You’re dismissed, no homework other than continued practice! We’ll have a practical quiz during our next class!”

Still excited for Beverly and for what might have been his most enjoyable class yet (he was yet to enjoy a Potions class), Will began to stuff his things into his bag. “Will,” He jerked up to see Hannibal still looking at him. “I have the Potion ingredients. If you two will come down to the dungeons this evening, I’ll be happy to share them with you.”

“The Dungeons?” Will said, slightly horrified, far louder than he intended.

“It is where the Slytherin Common Room is located…” Hannibal said, frowning slightly, confused by Will’s alarm, no doubt.

Will blushed a deep red, promising to familiarize himself with the school as soon as possible. “Oh,” He said. “Right. Yeah. That sounds good. How about after dinner?”

“Excellent. I’ll see you around eight, then.” And Hannibal grabbed his bag and disappeared, leaving Tobias to scurry after him and Beverly to snicker at Will for not knowing about the dungeons.

“Shut up, Beverly.”

“I’m not the one who just yelled that in front of everyone.” She laughed as they pushed their way out of Charms to head for Defense Against the Dark Arts where Professor Quirrel would undoubtedly have something strange for them to do.


	4. Year 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, a little more backstory on our fellas with more magic and interactions to come! 
> 
> Your comments so far are making my day! I'm sorry for being slow to respond to them!!! 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy, please R and R, let me know what you think!
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr at obitine5eva, and I'd love to talk to some folks over there!

_My dear Mischa,_ Hannibal looked at his own slanting script, smiling slightly at the thought of his sister reading it aloud to herself in the vast castle she now had to call her playroom. Exceedingly bright, she had learned to read his fluid, near cursive writing the same time she learned to read print, and he knew her now eight-year -old hands would be eager to read about his adventures. For the longest time it had been the two of them, when he was seven and she was only four years old, being shuffled around the orphanage as if they were pieces of furniture no one could quite place.

 _“Thought they were killed in the raid with the parents.”_ He had heard them whisper when his uncle finally came for them. _“Had no idea it was those kids, Mr. Lecter. The girl won’t remember. The boy won’t speak.”_ He didn’t like to linger on the thoughts of those days, when he knew, even then, he was deep enough in his own head that he didn’t speak. He could remember the night his parents were killed, attacked and murdered by dark wizards. He had seen the curses, his mother stayed dueling even after his father had been killed. Hannibal had watched through a crack in the false wall behind the couch, hand clamped over Mischa’s mouth as she had cried and bit his fingers till they bled. His mother had killed one of them, wounded another, but then she too had fallen.

He watched through the crack as they took everything, stripped the house of its articles and his parents’ bodies of their belongings, but never found the pair of them crouched in the wall. When he had finally crawled out of the space, his own face streaked with tears, carrying Mischa who had mercifully fallen asleep, he had found in his mother’s hand, the broken remains of her wand, stepped on by what might have been her killer, and it was all he had taken with them as he carried Mischa out the door, walking into the snow until the sun had started rising again and Mischa’s face had started to turn a pale shade of blue before the woman with the tavern had found them staggering outside her door.

He shook his head, effectively silencing those memories and the angry, persistent burn that accompanied them as he dipped his quill again in ink to begin writing. “Is something wrong?” Bedelia du Maurier, on of the house prefects, who would certainly be Head Girl by the end of the year said. Hannibal liked Bedelia, unlike most of the people here, she didn’t demand constant attention or social interaction. She was friendly enough, but only to the point, Hannibal wagered, that it did herself some good. And he knew for a fact, from the many things he and Bedelia had attended as members of prominent families, that his uncle had undoubtedly asked her to keep an eye on him.

 “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” She added calmly, and he pressed down into the paper hard enough that ink bled through the page. “And I don’t think the Bloody Baron has come through in some time.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” He looked over where she was sitting with her legs crossed, looking at him over a brand-new copy of an O.W.L. Charms textbook. Her face gave away nothing, and he tried to give what he had learned was a reassuring smile. She blinked at him, her face still unchanging

“You’re welcome.” She finally said and looked down again, taking notes on her parchment as she read quickly.

He returned to his letter, all nagging thoughts and unpleasant memories cast aside in his excitement. He started with the simple things: descriptions of his classes including an count of his success in Charms and Transfiguration, comments on Potions class and how he and his Potions partner had managed to brew all three of their batches correctly on the first try. He paid a mention to his upcoming flying lesson the following Friday, though it would not be his first time on a broomstick, it seemed exciting enough to include.

And still, the letter felt as though it were missing something. He was aware, as he gave slightly edited versions of events, that he was excluding others he had met. He had no intention of doing such permanently, but for now, he was worried he was setting up his own expectations too high. He didn’t want to write to his sister about the friends he was making, the people he was meeting because he wasn’t certain how they felt.

He felt compelled to write about Beverly Katz and the two Hufflepuffs who bickered as though they had been married for a long time, and most of all about Will Graham. He had met him earlier in the evening with the Potions supplies he had had ordered, neatly separated into cloth bags. He had found Will and Beverly wondering through the dungeons, looking in one of the old cells at some of the still remaining equipment when he had gone to them.

He couldn’t help but watch them for a moment, watching Will Graham run his hands over the wall where some poor soul must have been at some point in time, and it was almost as if he could feel what had happened. It was strange, the look on his face, but he had startled out of it when Hannibal had announced himself and Will Graham had smiled at him as though nothing was wrong.

He had offered to bring them back to the common room, but Beverly had seemed far more interested in exploring unknown corners of the dungeon and he was happy to oblige since he hadn’t taken much time for himself to explore and the search turned up what might have been a secret tunnel. But eventually, their running around had come to an end, and, citing their Transfiguration homework, they had started to leave.

“Thanks, again, Hannibal.” Will had said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He had added with a small smile that made Hannibal’s heart swell in his chest. But then they had said their goodbyes all the same, and he had come back to where Bedelia had been when he left, not quite sure what to think.

 _I have been making new friends_ ,  _though none as lovely as you, of course._ He added the small sentence at the end, hoping it was true.

_All my Love,  
Hannibal Lecter_

 

Will sat in the Ravenclaw Common Room, wishing that the two older students snogging in the windowsill would stop so he could focus, or that there was a station on the radio set on the mantle other than the Wizarding station that seemed to be stuck playing a song called “Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love” on repeat for the last hour. He didn’t mind it the first few times, but after about six straight instances, the Common Room had mostly cleared out and Will had finally turned it off.

After levitating everything that wasn’t nailed down (though he was nearly certain he was the only one doing the prescribed practice), ending with one of the arm chairs, he felt as confident as he had seen Beverly and Hannibal be in class. It felt good, knowing he could do it for certain, and not even a moment after, to prove it to himself for sure, he had levitated his book from his bag for Transfiguration.

He had already finished his Transfiguration essay, but Professor McGonagall had recommended they practice more on the matches and had distributed boxes of them. Beverly had given it some practice, seemingly annoyed because she didn’t think Will needed too while she was forced to try until she finally got three needles in a row, but he was determined not to let his successes make him overconfident and he pulled out the small box to drop them on the desk.

“Do you mind if I borrow some of those?” A breathy voice sounded behind him, and he jerked up to see Margot Verger coming out of the girl's dormitory. “I’m afraid I lost my box.”

“Sure,” Will stammered, and pushed some over to her as she sat. A glance behind him showed that the couple had finally retired, hopefully to different beds, and they were the only two left. Perhaps his constant lifting of everything in sight had pushed them away.

“We might be the only ones actually doing the homework.” She said softly, her tone barely making it over the sound of the fire, but still distinct enough he could hear it.

“Yeah,” Will said, blushing, wondering why she was taking the time to talk to him. “Maybe so.”

He watched her focus, holding her wand almost lazily in her fingertips as she tried the spell, managing a half transformation, certainly better than most of their class had done. “You’re a muggle-born, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He said, blinking up at her. “How---How did you know?”

“It’s almost midnight and you’re out here with me instead of sleeping like everyone else.” She said, “Trying to prove something?”

He wasn’t sure if it was a question. And he wasn’t sure of his answer to it. It didn’t feel like it, at least not consciously; he loved the feeling it gave him, doing magic and doing it well. The pride that welled in chest, the realization that he really could do the same things as people like Hannibal who things seemed to come so easy for. “Maybe.” He finally answered. “You’re pure-blood aren’t you? Why are you out here?”

She didn’t answer right away, instead taking a moment to practice again, a motion he copied, only his match transformed fully and perfectly into a thin needle just as it had in class.

“I have a brother. He’s a Squib.”

“What’s a Squib, exactly?” Will asked, feeling bad for interrupting, but that was the second time he had heard it.

“The Vergers are a big name in the Wizarding World. It would be…unbecoming...if something were to happen.” She was really looking past him, into the fireplace that seemed to flare as she spoke. “My father loves my brother Mason, but he can’t use magic. Happens every so often, Pure-blood wizards have Squib children.”

Will wasn’t sure what to say. Margot was impossible to read, especially since he hardly knew her. “Father got Mason a private tutor to try and teach him when I got my letter. And I know that…if things don’t go well, he’ll call me back home.” Margot said, and stood up. But she gave one last cast of the spell before Will watched her go back to her room.

“Thanks for sharing.” She said. He looked back to the table, where her third match had been there was a perfectly sharp needle, identical to his own. He frowned, twisting in his seat, wishing he had known what to say.


	5. Year 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, new chapter! My dislike for football gave me plenty of time to work on this and hammer this chapter out. Lots of time with our boys, which I hope you were looking forward to! 
> 
> Thanks to those who are continuing to read, special thanks for those who have left kudos, and extra special to thsoe who have left comments! You all keep me writing, and I relaly appreciate it! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at obitine5eva!
> 
> I hope all enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

“Up.” Beverly said, and as Will watched, the ratty looking broomstick shot up into her hand after only a slight hesitation, and she gripped it tightly. “Give it a go, Graham.”

He glanced down the row, where the other Ravenclaws were having varying levels of success. Margot Verger had her broom in her hand already, looking up at the sky as if she were worried it might rain despite there being only a single, wispy cloud hovering over the castle. Timmy Price’s broom was bouncing around on the ground like it was trying to make up its mind. Eldon Stammetz didn’t seem as though he had even tried to lift his broom, which sat on the ground exactly where it had been to start with, and he stared at it as if it were the most uninteresting thing he had ever been forced to look at. Looking even farther down, where the Hufflepuffs were, Jimmy and Brian were predictably bickering as only Jimmy was holding his broom. Lawrence Wells, another Hufflepuff boy, was staring at them as if he wanted to strangle them both for breaking his concentration and Franklyn Froidevoux quite reminded Will of a rabbit in how his jerking broom was making him jumpy.

A glance at the Gryffindor’s showed Jack Crawford standing stock still with his broom in his hand, waiting on further instruction. Alana Bloom held hers as well, offering help to the boy standing next to her, though Will wasn’t certain of his name. Perhaps Randall? He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t need to check, but a short glance to the Slytherins showed that Hannibal was indeed already holding his broom, simling politely at Tobias who was showing off his own skills.

Will looked down at his own broom and let out a long breath, trying to calm himself down. He looked at the tiny engraved letters that read _Cleansweep_ on the tip of the broom handle and narrowed his eyes, trying to block out the noise of people yelling “Up!” in increasingly frustrated voices.

“Up.” He said finally, waiting until he felt cool wood in his hands to look up at Beverly. But not before he locked eyes with Hannibal, who gave him a genuine smile, one of his especially pointed teeth showing.

“Now, I want you all to mount your brooms, kick off hard from the ground. Hover for a moment, then lean forward and touch back down.” Madame Hooch gave their next set of instructions as the last of the most hesitant brooms came up to waiting hands. Will did as Beverly did, placing his legs on either side of the broom feeling strangely as though there were a seat he were on, grasping the wood firmly between his legs.

All around him, people began hovering the air, after strong kicks, and those who had clearly flown before, doing fanciful loops and swirls. He swallowed and kicked hard, feeling light as a feather as he rose into the air. He couldn’t help but laugh, feeling bad after he realized that it could be misconstrued as laughing at those still struggling, but in reality it felt as though something had been lifted from his chest.

After that they were sorted into two groups: those who were still struggling a bit like Timmy and Brian and Franklyn stayed near Madame Hooch, the rest were given permission to fly around the Quidditch pitch, get a feel for what it felt like.

Will loved it, everything about it. It reminded him, vaguely, of those days when he was out on the boat with his father, rolling through channels going fishing when his father had the weekend off. As soon as he had the hang of it, it was easy to sweep alongside the rafter, float past the bleachers and the house banners and the Quidditch hoops. Part of him wanted to ask someone how exactly you played Quidditch, but he didn’t want to stop for even a moment. He wondered what it would be like to go faster, clearly, from what he had heard Tobias talking to Hannibal about, there were far faster brooms than these. Will liked that they were worn from hundreds of fingers holding them just like him, flying for the first time. The wood was smooth, no splinters to hook in his fingers, only clear grooves where to put his hands.

“Exhilarating, isn’t it?” He heard the voice from behind him and maneuvered the broom to turn it around to see Hannibal hovering there, leaning backward slightly on his broom to hover. The wind had whipped his normally perfectly placed hair around until it was catching every breeze and blowing in strange triangles around his sharp face. “I take it you haven’t flown before.”

He shook his head, itching to do more of it. “I could show you something if you like. Although, judging by what you were doing there, you might be better at it than I am.”

“Okay,” Will said, though his voice was sucked into the wind and nodded instead.

“Hold on tight then,” Hannibal said. “Copy me.” And in an instant, he was shooting downwards towards the field at breakneck speed. Gripping tight, Will followed him, heat pounding in his chest as the ground grew closer and closer. He closed his body tighter around the broom, his smaller body letting him catch Hannibal quickly. “Don’t hit the ground.” Hannibal said over the near roar in his ears.

“What?” Will yelled, but then realized what he meant as Hannibal jerked up to pull out of the nosedive, moving almost jerkily. Will did the same, instinct urging him to swoop upwards in an arc, his body hovering only inches from the ground, and he could hear himself laughing hard as the pure thrill of it overtook him.

“I told you you’d be better.” Hannibal spoke above him and he looked up at him, grinning madly, knowing the long curls of his hair must be blowing all over the place. “That was excellent!” Will glanced around, noticing that not only was Hannibal looking at him with what might have been adoration, but the rest of the class was as well, hovering unsteadily as they watched him.

But the moment was short lived, as Madame Hooch’s whistle split his ears and it was time for them to fly back. He moved into place beside Hannibal, happy to fly back side by side.

 

 

Hannibal decided that the library might be his favorite place in all of the castle. There or the kitchens which he had finally figured out how to get into courtesy of a small house elf he had seen when he was sitting in the Common Room so late that they had come in to clean. The elf had assured him that he would bring him whatever he wanted, but Hannibal thought it might be nice to go and collect it if he was feeling peckish and up late at night.

Now, on an early Saturday afternoon, where he could see the Quidditch pitch flourish with yellow robes as Hufflepuff practiced, it was the perfect place to do his reading for the week, though, as the girl who was attempting to do so in the afar corner, it was not a good place for spell practice with Madame Pince watching the entire area like a hawk. The tables were long enough he could spread out his readings and parchment, making careful notes on things to come back to, and keep organized the many layers of parchment needed for all seven of his classes, including astronomy which had their first star chart due at the end of the week.

But perhaps best of all, at least at the moment, was that the only other person sharing his table was Will Graham. He had come in only a few minutes after Hannibal, holding his shoulder strap and looking around shyly through his square-frame glasses that Hannibal still wasn’t sure if he actually needed or not. He had stood at the entrance for a moment, and some strong part of Hannibal had wanted to yell for him and signal over. But his voice had caught in his chest, and instead he had shifted his things to make sure Will had enough space should he want to come over.

After a near agonizing two minutes of having to pretend he didn’t see Will looking around to see if he knew anyone at the surprisingly busy tables, he had almost felt the relief when Will walked over to him. “Can I sit here?” He had said so softly that Hannibal had hardly heard him.

“Of course.” He had answered equally as quiet, gesturing to the empty seat which Will took with a small flourish of parchments that had been haphazardly stuffed in his bag.

“Sorry to bother you, the Common Room was too loud to get anything done.” Will was blushing, not quite looking at him. In their nearly two weeks of classes and breakfasts spent together, Hannibal could count on his fingers the number of times that Will Graham had looked him in the eyes. The day before, on the brooms, had been for the longest amount of time.

“You aren’t bothering me,” Hannibal insisted, catching the sharp eyes of Madame Pince focusing on him. “I understand entirely.”

In truth, he did not like studying in the Common Room either because it was far too easy for others to come up and have conversations he wasn’t interested in with him. Namely Tobias Budge who Hannibal wasn’t sure his feelings about yet. On one hand, he was clearly talented and his family was well-known and well received, but on the other hand, there were some of his comments that tainted Hannibal’s view of him. He did not, for example, understand Hannibal’s interest in Will Graham’s friendship, saying that it might be better for Hannibal not to associate with him. When pressed for reasons, he had stammered and said only that wizard of Hannibal’s caliber needed friends who were his equals, not those who would drag him down. As a result of that conversation, Hannibal was now in the library instead of the Common Room where Bedelia du Maurier had watched the entire exchange with her eyebrows lifted in curious thought.

Will nodded and took out his things, reading into their History of Magic textbook, which even Hannibal had to admit was their most boring class by far. Most of the teachers were engaging and excited to be engaged, but Professor Binns, who simply floated at the front of the classroom was exceptionally droll in describing what could have been otherwise fascinating events. He watched Will turn to the section on Goblin Wars and raids and almost felt compelled to pull out his own book so they might talk about it, but his star charts weren’t going to finish themselves and he wanted to make sure all of the angles were correct.

Time after seemed to pass with an errant quickness he had not expected. It seemed as though when he looked up, the beautiful day that had been outside had vanished and replaced by an equally beautiful evening, warm enough to still be summer. He glanced over at Will, who was now writing what must have been the conclusion of their upcoming Potions essay, and he tapped on the table.

“When you’re finished, would you like to go and work outside before dinner?” He asked, tilting his head towards the window.

“Let’s go now,” Will said, slamming his book shut in a way that had more than the librarian looking up. Will winced, but Hannibal just smiled and packed up his things quickly, leading them down the hall, down the stairs, and out into the space in front of the courtyard gardens where there were trees for them to sit under or grass to lay on.

He started towards a tree, and Will followed shortly after, seeming to breathe in deeply the air outside. “Do you like being outside?” Hannibal said, happy to be able to talk at a normal volume.

“Much more than being in.” Will responded, setting his bag down and taking time to walk around the tree, running a hand over the bark there, stretching until the collar of his robes pushed up over his black and bronze tie. “My dad and I go fishing whenever we can, whenever he’s home.”

“What does your father do?”

“He’s a Colonel in the United States Army. But he’s been stationed in Britain for a long time. He has a life here: Friends, and neighbors on the base. I don’t think he’ll leave voluntarily until they make him.”

“And your mother?”

“I don’t know.” Said Will, and Hannibal saw his cheeks tint red. “I….I don’t know her.”

“Oh,” Hannibal said and frowned, wishing he hadn’t asked. A feeling reinforced by Will’s next question.

“What about your parents?”

He blinked for a long moment, letting his eyes linger closed for longer than he meant to so that when he opened them, Will was looking at him, face twisted in concern. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend---” He started to stammer.

“It’s alright, Will.” Hannibal said and smiled carefully. “My parents are dead. I live with my Aunt, Uncle, and sister outside of London. My uncle is an artifacts dealer and my Aunt deals in Magical Creatures with her family who work out of a wizarding syndicate in Japan.”

“Oh,” Said Will, and his face was a near-comical mix of wanting to say something about Hannibal’s parents, and not wanting to bring it back up again and not really knowing how to react to their careers. “How old is your sister?”

“8.” Hannibal said. “Mischa. She wanted nothing more than to come with me, I’m afraid.” And he smiled to himself, remembering her stubby fingers patting him on the face before wrapping him in a fierce hug when he got on the train. “She’s brilliant.”

“She must be great.” Will said, and sat down by his bag where Hannibal joined him, both leaning against the tree. It took a moment for Hannibal to realize that Will was looking longingly at the Quidditch pitch across the way where the training Hufflepuffs had disappeared, but also where the first match of the season between Slytherin and Gryffindor would be next Saturday. His uncle, thrilled that he was in Slytherin, had sent him some of his old supplies as well as a brand new green and silver scarf and glove set to wear to the game.

“You know, even though we can’t have our own brooms until next year, they’ll let you check out the Cleansweeps and fly on the grounds.” He looked over at Will. “If you ever want to fly together…” He paused, losing his words at the look of almost pure excited hope that was taking over Will’s face, “I could teach you about Quidditch, if you like.”

“Quidditch?”

And the evening, until Will’s pre-scheduled dinner plans with Beverly, Jimmy, and Brian (which he invited Hannibal to attend) dissolved into a conversation that started with Quidditch and went through what felt like almost everything. Will’s life in America, Hannibal’s estate in London, Hogsmeade village and the subtleties of salmon fishing, levitation charms and the difficulties of potions, the different professors of Hogwarts (which dissolved into several hilarious impressions), strange magical plants, the Forbidden Forest, and Hannibal noticed that Will wasn’t even mildly upset that his Potions essay remained unfinished and he was surprised at himself that the grass Will had had to pick off the back of his robes didn’t truly bother him at all.


	6. Year 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks, I have actually made it to England itself for the next few months. With everything happening, things will be a bit more spaced out, but I plan to update regularly! Particularly with exciting things coming up like Halloween and the holidays for these fellas! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

Will set his bag down on the step next to him, letting out a long breath as he leaned back against the pillar on the stairs. He wasn’t quite sure where he was, somewhere in the lower levels of the castle, but since it was deserted, it was clear that this was not a common corridor for students or staff to walk through. Not that he minded, in fact, he had needed a little space.

Time was flying: Halloween was less than a week away and it seemed as though all of his days were filled with various tasks and misadventures. He had managed to make a name for himself by rescuing Brian who had accidentally cast a spell to make his foot stick in the toilet, and now people he didn’t know whispered about him. Wanted his help with things. It was frankly unsettling and after a long two hours of dealing with whispering behind him in the library from a group of giggling Gryffindors, he had wanted some space. He hoped Hannibal, who had been drawing ornate representations of potions ingredients as though the various flowers, stems, and leaves he drew might curl off the page and into his cauldron, wouldn’t think he had wanted to leave him behind, but it couldn’t be helped. This place was far less overwhelming, at least for a bit.

He let out a long breath, wand held in his fingertips. But then, as if splashed with cold water, his skin prickled, the hairs on his arms shooting straight up and jolting him from his temporary lull. His breathing quickened, he was almost surprised there was no fog coming out of his mouth with the sheer coldness he felt. But, almost as suddenly as it had come, it receded, leaving him shivering but able to feel the familiar warmth of the castle.

“Hello?” He said, wondering if another student had cast a spell. There was something nearly mournful in the air now, his sensitivity to such things making it clear that whomever was doing this was filled with a resonant sadness, almost to the point of acute pain. “Do you need help?” He asked, and stood.

“No.” A voice, high pitched and mournful sounded from in front of him, but there was nothing to see. “No, you cannot help me.” There was something off about the words, the pronunciation varied slightly from what a student would use. Perhaps it was a member of the staff, but even then, it sounded a bit outdated. He sank back to the floor, waiting on something further.

“I know you’re sad…I’m sorry,” He wished his voice sounded stronger. “Can I see you?”

There was a period of nothing, no change and only silence, but it was punctuated by another rush of cold that passed through his body until he could see something start to solidify in front of him, shimmering slightly, but catching no light from the nearby candles. It was then he realized that the person he was waiting on to appear had not been living at all.

The ghost of a women, dressed in clothes that he could only begin to place in time, floated several feet in front of him, looking away from him, as if he were the only thing she couldn’t bear to look at. She was not the first ghost he had seen: Peeves the Poltergeist loved to make trouble for everyone in his year, and the Gryffindor Ghost Nearly-Headless Nick as well as Slytherin’s Bloody Baron were infamous across the school. He did not know this woman, however. But part of him felt drawn to her all the same. There was something there, a deep-rooted fear.

“Hello,” He said again. “I’m Will Graham.”

“You sound different from the others.” She began to drift, though he suspected she was in full control of where she was drifting to. “Your voice is not the same.”

“I’m not British originally.” He said, and waited on a reaction, getting nothing but the same effervescent sadness. “I moved here with my dad when I was about five.”

“Strange.” She said and disappeared from view for a moment before remerging from a nearby wall.

“Can I ask your name?” Will said, and for the first time, her eyes flickered up to his face, not meeting his own gaze, but seeming to study all the curves of his facial features.

“I know what the students call me,” She said, her voice sharp with distaste.

“I don’t.” Will said, his face turning red from.both his lack of knowledge and at being uncomfortable about what the other students had said. “I must have missed it.”

“Helena.” She answered softly, the edge gone from her tone. “You are in my mother’s house.”

“You’re the ghost of Ravenclaw, then?” Will said, and she turned her head away sharply again.

“Why are you down here, Will Graham?” She floated close to him, bringing with her the rush of cold again.

“I needed some space.” He said, trying not to react too much to her, not wanting to make her feel worse. “Is that why you’re down here?”

“Perhaps.” She said, and floated back into his line of sight. “You’re a strange boy, Will Graham.”

“I know.” He said, and smiled, but she frowned at him in response. “I only mean…well, I know I’m a bit different than most of the others.”

“Strange,” She said, and without another word, thought, or action, vanished entirely, leaving him alone.

 

 

“Are you going to the match today, Hannibal?” Hannibal looked up at Will who, entirely matching Beverly Katz who sat to his left, was decorated for the match against Ravenclaw and Gryffindor later that day. He had been at breakfast when their matching gear had arrived, supplied by Beverly’s mother (a former Ravenclaw herself while Beverly’s father had gone to school in Germany), wrapped in two large bags sent from Beverly’s family owls that had nudged her affectionately before retiring to take a nap in the owlery. Inside had been complete sets with the blue and bronze striped scarves they were wearing, the dark blue fingerless gloves with small eagles embroidered on the back, the matching boggins (Will’s was blue with a bronze stripe and eagle, and Beverly’s the opposite), and an old Quidditch set of Ravenclaw Quidditch Cup Champion pins that were fastened to their robes.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Hannibal smiled over at him, wishing he could wear something. Will had thus far gone with him to every Slytherin game that had taken place, beginning with the one against Gryffindor and to the week prior’s match against Hufflepuff as well. Jimmy and Brian had accused him of being a traitor for that, but they had all laughed it off afterwards, especially since Hufflepuff played a particularly good game that was only closed by thirty points. Will had worn Hannibal’s extra scarf and asked seemingly dozen of questions as the senior Quidditch team sped expertly around the pitch: particularly the Slytherin keeper who had rumors milling around of him joining Puddlemere United when he finished school. “I don’t have the spirit wear, I’m afraid.”

“Well, Will and I thought we might change that.” Beverly reached into her bag, nearly splashing porridge everywhere. “Ive got the goods, he’s got the Transfiguration grades.”

“I’ve been practicing color switching spells.” Will said as Beverly produced a plain grey, cashmere scarf. Will took out his wand, doing a motion unfamiliar to Hannibal and whispering a new incantation, but the scarf turned the same rich blue as his and Beverly’s. She pulled out a set of plain gloves and in seconds they matched the coloring as well. “That way you won’t stand out as much.”

“And it’ll give those two even more to huff about…” She winked over at Jimmy and Brian, the latter of which had his mouth open as Hannibal wrapped the dark blue scarf around his neck before finishing his eggs.

“I think you mean Hufflepuff about, Bev…” And Hannibal joined the pair of them as they started laughing perhaps too loudly at Will’s terrible joke.

 

“You think I could make the team next year?” Will said to him, right as a bludger whizzed past his head. “I want to try for Chaser, I think.”

Hannibal thought that personally Ravneclaw could certainly use some new Chasers at the moment since two of their had been incapacitated, one by a bludger and one by their own maneuver. And since all three of them were graduating, he didn’t feel any doubt in his response of, “Of course, I think you’ll be brilliant.”

Wednesday evenings spent on the school Cleansweeps had rapidly become his favorite part of the week, even though he loved nearly every aspect of his life within the confines of the castle. Each Wednesday after dinner, Madame Hooch let the pair of them use an old set of Quidditch balls (sans Bludgers) and the brooms to zoom around the pitch. Will, in very short order, had proven his natural gifts for flying. He was Hannibal’s equal in every move, better at some (an increasingly growing number) and flew with pure exhilaration  around the pitch, even as slow as the old brooms were going.

Hannibal had written to his uncle regarding the experience as one he had not been expecting to have, but one that he enjoyed immensely. He was considering trying out for Quidditch as well next year, a statement he had included to his uncle who had offered, in his next letter, to buy him a  broomstick and had included a picture of himself as one of Slytherin’s beaters in days past.

“Are you going to try out for Slytherin, then?” Will asked, squinting into the sun as the game flew around them.

“Maybe,” Hannibal practically had to shout over the roar around them as Ravenclaw’s Seeker wrapped their hand around the Snitch, closing the game before Hufflepuff’s score could creep up on them.

“I think you should,” said Will, before he started cheering with the rest of them as Beverly pulled them both into the chanting throng of people. Hannibal smiled, feeling warmth swell in his chest as he clapped along with the rest of the crowd and did his best to follow Will Graham’s bouncing bob of curls off of the pitch and back towards the castle. There was a moment he thought he had lost him, disappointment swelling in his chest, but then a hand wrapped around his forearm, and Will Graham was pulling him forward, making sure he ended up where he was supposed to be.


	7. Year 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Thanks to those who are still reading! And especially to those leaving kudos and commenting, I love y'all and you keep me writing! 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy, Please R and R, let me know what you think :) 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at obitine5eva.

“If I could have a word with you after class, Mr. Graham,” Professor McGonagall materialized in front of them, so suddenly in fact that Will wondered if she had been in her Animagi form only moments ago. It wasn’t unusual if there was a large number of tardy students for her to sit in waiting on the end of her desk, only to morph when they thought they had made it. Other students (mostly the ones who were consistently late) did not appreciate it, while Will personally found it quite funny, especially paired with Beverly’s commentary and accompanying snickers.

“Of course, Professor.” He said, stammering a bit, but slightly reassured since she didn’t look angry at all. In fact, she might even be smiling a bit.

He watched as she stepped over to Hannibal’s desk, leaving him and Beverly to finish their notes on high level Transfiguration concentration exercises. They were theoretical notes, but she said they would be happy to have not seen them for the first time during O.W.L. testing in their fifth year. Will copied the notes from the board, doing his best to copy the elaborate drawing she had produced with seemingly no effort, and he was almost tempted to try and see across the aisle at Hannibal’s drawing which he was certain would be perfect.

“Did you mess something up?” Beverly whispered as best she could. Will shrugged in return, swallowing heavily.

“I’ll catch up with you in Potions,” He said in an actual whisper, “Hopefully we won’t be late or Professor Snape might suck my soul out.”

Beverly couldn’t contain her snicker at that, which made Will dissolve into giggles at the image of their very wildly dressed, bat-like Potions Master floating around as if a Dementor.

“What’s so funny?” Brian whispered from behind them, which just set Beverly off more, but before they could answer, or get into too much trouble, the class was dismissed.

 

“I suppose you two are wondering why you’re in here given the fact that you haven’t missed an assignment yet.” Will stood on the far side of McGonagall’s desk next to Hannibal, who seemed just as confused as he was about being there. “Have a seat for a moment, this won’t take long.”

They both sat, shifting in their chairs, meeting each other’s eyes for only a moment before looking back to her. Even that slight comradery helped Will calm down, and he let out a breath to settle himself.

“As I’m sure you know, Mr. Graham, you are performing at the top of this class with Mr. Lecter right behind you.” Will felt his face redden as he could practically feel the beam of pride, directed at him, coming from Hannibal. “The other Professors and myself have been monitoring your progress and it seems to be the case across multiple classes. Even Madame Hooch said the pair of you have been spending extra time on the brooms.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Will said quietly, not quite sure what else to say. He was still confused as to why they had been called in, however.

“I’m not the head of either of your houses, and you are welcome to discuss this further with Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape, in fact I recommend it, but there may be an opportunity for you both to take some higher-level offerings in certain subjects beginning right after Halloween if you were interested. Some of your other classmates may be joining you: Ms. Katz in Charms for example, and Mr. Crawford and Ms. Bloom in Potions, but I wanted to emphasize my belief that these classes would open doors for you both.”

Will sat back in his chair stunned into a silent stupor. “If you would excuse us, Mr. Lecter, I need to speak with Mr. Graham alone for a moment.”

“Of course,” Hannibal stood. “Thank you, Professor.” And he smiled at Will, giving him a wink as he turned to vanish into the busy throng of the hallways.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall.” Will reiterated as she sat in silence for a moment.

“This is not an easy subject to bring up, Mr. Graham, particularly since the trails of those who followed You-Know-Who have concluded recently and the question of blood status was of such concern recently.” Will had heard whispers about a You-Know-Who, a dark wizard it seemed, who had only gone away in the past few years. Nothing he truly knew anything about. “I just wanted to reinforce for you, Mr. Graham, that you have exceptional magical gifts.”

“Thank---” But she held up a hand.

“There are wizards out there who will doubt you. I wish I could guarantee that you will not face problems beyond that of your friends, but that would be lying to you,” She let out a breath, followed by an easier smile. “I hope that you consider the opportunity strongly. It is especially important that you enable yourself to fight those predilections, Mr. Graham, which I have no doubt that you will do.” She paused. “Off you go then, best not to make Professor Snape angry.” She said with a final smile.

He said a final thank you and began to run into the hall, thinking he just might make it on time if he ran all the way there, but couldn’t help but feel unsettled by her words. They had felt, now that he thought about it, far more like a warning than an opportunity. At least for him.

 

 

“How did you get it to turn that color?” Tobias Budge held his head over Hannibal’s cauldron as the distinctive spiral fumes came from it. “Mine won’t turn anything but the base.”

“I followed the instructions, I suppose.” Hannibal said, though it was not entirely true. The instructions had said to cut the dandelion stems longways and roll them to extract juice. He instead and split them at several indentions along the stem, crushing them with his knife blade until they released the juice correctly and turned his potion the perfect light blue described by the text. Tobias huffed and looked back at his cauldron, stirring the thickening green slime that was coagulating there. Hannibal sighed to himself and turned. “Try and press the stems with the flat of the blade.”

Tobias did as instructed, excited when his potion turned almost the correct color, even though by now it had been cooking for far too long and would not turn out. “Thanks,” He said, smiling at Hannibal. “You’re quiet good a potions…”

But whatever Tobias was going to say was interrupted by the welcome arrival of Professor Snape who stood for a moment over Hannibal’s cauldron. “Excellent work, Mr. Lecter,” He said slowly and Hannibal smiled shortly, knowing that Professor Snape was not one to give out praise. “I take it you crushed the roots.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“In spite of the fact that the instructions say to slice them lengthwise?”

“Yes, Sir.” Hannibal met Snape’s eyes as they seemed to bore into him. Not with contempt, as he had looked at Tobias’ cauldron with, but with interest.

“You might do well to put more stock by the instructions, Mr. Lecter.” He finally said, though Hannibal didn’t think he meant it all since his was the only successful potion and from what Professor McGonagall had told them.

“I can’t believe he said that when yours is the only one that looks decent.” Tobias said, his nose turned upwards in defiance.

A large part of Hannibal wanted to say to Tobias that he really couldn’t believe he was that thick, but he held his tongue, and simply lifted his eyebrows. The boy started talking about something else, rambling unimportantly while Hannibal considered what he had learned today, both about himself and about the opportunities available to him.  He thought about every nasty word that Tobias has said or implied against muggle-borns, in clear attempts to undermine Will Graham, and he couldn’t help but smile through the ramblings. Will was clearly far more talented: everyone managed to see it, he suspected Tobias managed to see it, but refused to acknowledge it.

He had finally written about Will to Mischa, who had returned a letter along with his uncle’s at their last communication. She had written, in neatly spaced block letters that Will seemed, “Friendly and like he deserved a hug.” Before suggesting that Hannibal be the one to provide it. He had blushed at that when he opened the letter, careful to hide his reaction from Bedelia who was there when he read them in the Common Room (he was starting to wonder if she ever went elsewhere), and had not taken her up on her advice.

Now, however, when he finally freed himself of Tobias’ chattering at the end of class and walked as quickly as possible to Herbology where he could see Will and Beverly sitting by their now-empty flowerpots towards the back of the room. He breathed a sigh of relief, excited to see them so close.

As he approached, Will looked up at him, smiling softly, but underneath it, Hannibal could see that something was wrong. He looked worried, his brow furrowed and his face not fully spreading into a smile. Hannibal curled his lips, wondering if someone had said something to him, feeling anger throb with each footstep.


	8. Year 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! Halloween chapter as promised!
> 
> Hoep you enjoy, please R and R, let me know what you think!

Halloween at Hogwarts was as magnificent as Will had expected it to be. The teacchers had gotten in on the spirit of things (all but Professor Snape, it seemed) and Professor Flitwick had even taken part of class to demonstrate the same charm that Professor Dumbledore had used to both light and keep the Jack O’ Lanterns in the Great Hall aloft throughout the day. The classrooms, already old looking, were decorated with the various trappings of Halloween, all enchanted to move, interact, and provide little scares. Brian had been at the recieveing end of one in which what appeared to be a silhouette of an old style witch had screamed at him when he leaned in too close to the wall. Jimmy had laughed for a solid minute before reminding him to be careful before Will had to fish him from another toilet.

The upperclassman were seemingly into the spirit of things as well, there were rumors that a couple of seventh year Gryffindors had wrangled a Boggart and were planning on setting it loose outside one of the first-year classes to provide a real scare, but thus far, they had made it unscathed which Will was quite glad for. He had not been able to find any Boggart repellent spells in _Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1_ and didn’t know any older students to ask for help. He also figured that might make him a target, and he didn’t want to risk it.

Perhaps most enthused however, were the Hogwarts ghosts who floated around in pure frivolity at the tables lined with candles and pumpkins. They talked rather jovially about death, which had Will sipping his soup in silence while the Gryffindor ghost named Nearly Headless Nick while he told him the gruesome story of his beheading which had conveniently occurred on Halloween nearly 200 years ago. He had lamented his inclusion from some sort of beheaded ghosts social group, which Will hoped he had shown the right amount of sympathy for, but wasn’t sure he had since Sir Nicholas had floated off in a huff to talk to another table, leaving Will to be very thankful when Beverly arrived and had someone still living to speak with.

He watched for Helena to come into the Great Hall, take part in the festivities, but she never appeared. The rather friendly Hufflepuff ghost was very amicable towards everyone, attempting to distribute what seemed like very old candies that he pulled from his robe pockets that never made it anywhere before vanishing. Beverly pointed out the Slytherin table in which the horrifyingly bloody ghost in old world uniform had emerged from a plate of blood sausages and seemed to take particular delight in pretending to hook some of them along his bloodstained blade while several students recoiled in horror and the food remained largely untouched.

Hannibal joined them shortly after Beverly arrived, which had thankfully stopped earning them strange glances, except from Jack Crawford who always seemed to watch their group with particular interest, especially when they would eventually be joined by Jimmy and Brian when they would arrive from their class with the other Hufflepuffs before lunch.

“Do you have anything planned for this afternoon?” Will asked the group, all of whom turned to look at him.

“Professor Sprout is letting Brian and I redo our Herbology assignment from Monday,” Jimmy said, “After someone managed to burn the end of the tentacula roots before we got them potted…” Before Brian could retaliate with choice words of his own, Beverly cut them off.

“I promised Margot I would help her with some Charms work before the feast. You know we have that first essay on Severing and Mending Charms due next week and he was hinting that there might be a practical.” Will nodded, remembering his own need to practice such things, though he had taken most of the previous afternoon to write his essay already and was pleased with his progress on it.

“Did you have something in mind?” Hannibal asked, dipping what seemed like part of a baguette into his own bowl of soup, looking at Will through curious eyes.

“Just visiting someone,” Will said, suddenly shy of his plans. What if they thought he was being ridiculous? But Beverly had turned back to Jimmy and Brian, fishing through her bag for information on how to properly place their tentacula leaves. “I…I think they could use some company. Would you like to join me?”

“It sounds like a grand adventure,” Hannibal said, and smiled as he chewed his bite of bread.

 

 

“You have a friend besides me who lives near the Dungeons?” Hannibal walked beside him, trialing fingers along the nearly-damp walls of the final staircase. “A rather odd place to find acquaintances, but then again, you are always unpredictable.”

“I just thought it was wrong that she wouldn’t be able to celebrate like the others,” Will said softly, feeling the temperature change as they got close to where he hoped she might come out.

“Others?” Hannibal asked, but Will held up a hand.

“Helena?” He said, waiting for a few moments. “Helena, its me, Will Graham.” He said, and tried his best to ignore Hannibal watching him with his eyes widened in slight suspicion, perhaps even concern. “I thought you might want to celebrate Halloween.”

“Will, there’s no one-“ But Hannibal stopped as a familiar figure began to materialize in front of them, the air going nearly mournful.

“I said you were a strange boy, Will Graham.” She said, not looking at them but instead seeming to have her eyes closed as she faced away. “And you are not alone.”

“This is my friend Hannibal.” Said Will slowly, sitting down on the ledge, gesturing for Hannibal to do the same, who had seemingly been stunned into contemplative silence for at least a few moments.

“Students do not come to visit me down here. Not even those in my mother’s house.” She turned now, her eyes moving over both of them in slow sequence. “Or the staff. Not for many years.”

“I just noticed you weren’t upstairs. I thought…I thought you might have wanted to join in the celebrations.”

“I have not joined the students upstairs either,” She said, and floated slightly closer to them. “They are unkind.”

“What do you mean?” Will asked, feeling the mourning coming from the woman.

“You are not the first student to visit me, Will Graham.” She said slowly, almost in a mournful wail of noise as she suddenly flitted around, her voice seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. “There have been others. They seek to gain things from me.”

“I just thought…” Will stammered, but she stopped him, suddenly appearing inches away from him, as if daring him to flinch away.

“Do you seek my mother’s diadem?” She said, her voice as close to threatening as Will imagined it could get after years of only sorrowful talking.

“No,” Will said, and reached into his robes. “It’s Halloween, though. I thought you could use some company if you wouldn’t come upstairs. Maybe some decorations.” Her pale gray eyes moved to his hand where a small pumpkin was in his palm that he sat on the ledge where they sat. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what your mother’s diadem is. Did you want help finding it?”

“No!” She yelled, and he could feel the anger bubbling behind the words, but her face was softened as she stared at the pumpkin rather than at them. “No.” She said again, as if contemplating something.

“We’ll leave you be,” Will said, and slid off the ledge. “If you’d like to come up, the feast is tonight…” He said, trying to make her react to something cheerful.

“Thank you, Will Graham.” She said, her grey eyes moving up to him before she disappeared again.

 

 

Hannibal took another bite of pumpkin pie, the soft crust so flaky it nearly dissolved on his tongue, and watched as Will Graham finished up the last bit of his chicken thighs on the other side of the table. He knew that Will was a little concerned since he had hardly said a word since their interaction with Helena Ravenclaw earlier that night, but Hannibal, for the first time in his life, had no genuine guide on how to react to what had happened. Never, not even in his wildest imaginings, had he imagined this.

“How did you meet her?” Hannibal had asked, fascinated by the entire thing.

“We were both alone,” Will said simply and had not offered any other explanation, only looking up from his Charms practice and astronomy charts a few times to ask clarifying questions on some unclear concepts and a rather odd question about Boggarts, which Hannibal had only known by chance because of his Aunt’s dealings in them as an unlicensed magical creature.

How Will Graham had managed to make friends with a ghost that no one had seen in nearly eight years was incredible to Hannibal. He wanted to know more, almost needed to know more, but Will had been rather quiet about the whole thing, as if he didn’t consider it important.

“Did you two have fun adventuring?” Beverly asked as she finished her own conversation with Will about something entertaining Margot Verger had told her. Margot was eating with them, which Hannibal was defining as with them since it was far closer to them than she normally sat which was as far away from every living person as she could manage.

“It wasn’t a very long adventure,” Will laughed, “But it was good.” Since he didn’t offer more, Beverly didn’t press them, and the conversation turned to past Halloween’s in which apparently Will had dressed up in strange costumes and asked for candy at the doors of strangers. By the end, Hannibal had laughed so much and was so full from the feast that he had nearly forgotten the encounter at all.

He left the table early, trying to round up his things despite his own uncharacteristic disorganization, to finish some homework. He returned Will’s smile, wondering for a moment if he could tell Will he had a dollop of whipped cream on his upper lip, but since it was funny and he was certain Beverly would take care of it, he didn’t and instead let the thought make him smile a little more on his way out.

The halls were deserted, students still packed into the Great Hall for the late night feast and a select few making their way up to the library. His walk through the dungeons seemed longer than usual, perhaps because he was so full, but it was interrupted by a strange noise. He stopped, looking sideways into the old cells, shrouded in darkness.

Then his eyes caught the glint of a pair of eyes, peering out at him as a shadowed figure stepped out. He stumbled back, pulling out his wand as the man in front of him was shown to be three men, terrifyingly familiar. They were the men that haunted his nightmares: wands drawn as he fell, his schoolbooks and parchments spilling out onto the ground as they came close to him.

The one in the front had the same horrible smile he had seen as he pulled his mother’s rings from her cold hands, clasping them in his own as he snapped her wand to pieces with his foot. The man in the front raised his wand as the two behind him turned to face him, a new glint catching his eyes. His voice choked in horror, his wand near uncontrollable in his hands as his eyes found Mischa, held in one of their grasp, a knife blade pressed to her throat, her screams inhuman and hitting his ears so horribly that they rattled in his head and his hands ached with phantom, bite marks as he had covered her mouth while their parents were killed. The other held Will Graham, knife centimeters away from slicing his throat while his eyes stared at Hannibal with what looked like horrible betrayal.

“ _Stupefy!”_ He yelled, finally finding his voice, but the spell came out feebly, dissolving off the end of his shaking wand. The man in front sneered, his teeth horrible and yellow and bloodstained.

“Nice try, little Master,” He sneered, raising his own wand.

“ _Stupefy!”_ He tried again, nothing happening at all. “ _Stupefy!”_ He could feel tears streaming down his own face, clear as the ones on Mischa’s face. “ _Stupefy!”_ He yelled one more time, finally a red blast coming from his wand. It hit the man square in the chest, and he dared to let out a breath before the same sneer returned and his blood ran cold.

“Hannibal?” He heard a familiar voice in the back of his brain and wondered if it might be his parent’s, telling him to run or hide or fight or accept the fact that he couldn’t save them. “Hannibal!” The man turned away from him and the crowd in front of him began to change, swirl and twist in darkness until the men and Will Graham and his sister vanished to be replaced by a large figure, solid black, antlers protruding from its head. And in front of it, now facing it, stood Will Graham.

“ _Riddikulus!”_ Will shouted and the shape turned bright pink, wearing a strange dress reminiscent of what a grandmother might wear to church with a hideous floral pattern. If he could think or breathe or process, Hannibal might have laughed. “Hannibal, you’ve got to get up.”

The shape abandoned Will, changing back to Hannibal’s horrible vision, but his friend through himself in between them again. “Riddikulus!” He shouted again, the shape dressed in an even more outlandish polka dot pants suit. Hannibal stared for only a moment before starting to scramble and gather his things off the floor, wishing he couldn’t feel the tears drying on his cheeks. As he moved, the beast tried to follow him, Will putting himself in-between Hannibal and it consistently, fighting it off with more and more ridiculous expulsions.

“You’ve got to go back upstairs and get a teacher.” Will said to Hannibal behind him as the antlered figure circled him again. “I don’t know how to kill it.”

“Okay,” Hannibal said, hating that his voice sounded so unsure, was wobbling so much, hating that he needed Will Graham to save him. He stood, shouldering his bag, and steeled his wobbling legs to run for the exit as Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick seemed to materialize in front of them.

The beast turned from Will, happy to have something new to try and terrify, but before it could change from the beast wearing one of Madonna’s early dance outfits, Professor Snape had vanished it entirely with a wave of his wand, which made it explode in a horrible burst of light.

“Mr. Lecter! Mr. Graham!” Professor Flitwick squeaked. “We heard screaming all the way upstairs.”

“We’ll need the pair of you to come with us, please.”  Professor Snape was giving them that same appraising look that he had given Hannibal only a few days before. He was intrigued, perhaps impressed. But Hannibal didn’t care at the moment, he only wished his heart would stop hammering in his chest. He took a step closer to Will, going to follow them out.

“How did you find me?” He managed to ask as they followed the long draping cloaks of Professor Snape out of the dungeons.

“You left this at the table,” Will said, and Hannibal actually looked at his friend. Will’s normally healthily colored face was pale and drawn against his bones, his skin clammy, and sweat beading at his hairline. It hadn’t occurred to him that they had both faced their worst enemy. And Will…Will had won while he had been incapacitated. “It must have fallen out of your bag, and I…I thought I could catch you before you made it back.”

Will stuck out his hand, holding an opened envelope. Hannibal took it, willing his hands to stop trembling, which wasn’t going to happen as soon as he realized it was Mischa’s letter from only a few days before that Will was holding out to him.

Another thought flitted to Hannibal’s mind. Whatever they had just faced: their worst fears here in the Hogwarts dungeon, Will had thrown himself in front of it more times than Hannibal could count. Had faced his own fears down to spare Hannibal’s his. And he felt another tear crawl to the corner of his eyes that he smeared off his face with the sleeve of his robe. “Thanks,” He said, barely more than a whisper.

“Peppermint stick.” The strange phrase coming from Professor Snape had them both stopped in their tracks. And with good enough reason, as Hannibal watched, the Eagle statue in front of them ceased to be still and instead began to turn. He looked at Will Graham, who gave him a thin-lipped smile. He took the letter from his hands, letting his hand linger on Will’s fingers for a moment, drawing comfort from his friend’s touch when he didn’t draw away.


	9. Year 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im on a roll, folks! 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

In only a few passing breaths, courtesy of a staircase that seemed to both grow from the castle itself and to rise from the depths of an indelible hole, Hannibal realized that they were standing at the base of the Headmaster’s Office. Around them whirred metal machines, brilliant in the glow they gave off, illuminated by only candles. The desk in the center was made of worn wood, certainly cast in magic but for now giving off an air of being a well-lived space, complete with a soft, almost throne like chair that was missing paint chips behind it. In the chair was seated Headmaster Dumbledore, who looked down at the pair of them through half-moon glasses, a smiling curved within his long beard.

“We’re sorry for the intrusion, Headmaster,” Professor Flitwick spoke up, “We thought these two might have needed to speak with you regarding an incident that had just happened.”

The way he phrased it, Hannibal thought that Dumbledore could have easily mistaken them for a pair of rapscallions that had been causing Halloween mischief in the castle. But even if that was his impression, Dumbledore didn’t seemed bothered in the slightest and simply sat up a bit straighter, laying the quill he had been writing with down on the desk.

“Thank you, Professor,” He said calmly, eyes flickering over the pair of them. “I am, of course, happy to speak with them. Although I am sadly low on candy corn.” He looked almost mournfully at the dish on the edge of his desk, only a few pieces of the brightly colored candy left. Hannibal raised his eyebrows, feeling his heart rate finally start to lower from the rush of pure adrenaline, wondering what kind of off sort of wizard this might be. His uncle had ever only spoken very highly of him, and Hannibal felt nothing but relief throughout his body.

“We’ll wait outside then. Don’t be shy, boys,” Professor Flitwick urged them and then stepped down to where Professor Snape was presumably still waiting.

“Please,” Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair, the pale reds on his gowns catching candlelight. “Have a seat.” Hannibal glanced at Will’s who’s eyes were on him as well, and together they stepped up to sit in two ornate wooden chairs, surprisingly comfortable  for all they looked like.

“Are we in trouble, Sir?” Hannibal asked, sincerely hoping not since they had done nothing wrong that he could see. They weren’t the ones hiding Boggarts in odd corners of the castle to scare students who couldn’t’ fight them off. He shifted uneasily in his chair; he felt oddly sick at the idea that Will Graham might be in trouble when all he had done was continue to throw himself in front of…whatever that things was, he wasn’t sure. Something that haunted Will Graham’s nightmares. But he had fought it for him. If one of them was going to be in trouble, he would insist that it was him.

“Have you done something to merit trouble?” Dumbledore asked, his voice sounding genuinely curious.

“I don’t think so, Sir,” Hannibal answered, wondering where exactly to start.

“Best to be positive, don’t you think?” It took a moment for Hannibal to riddle out that Dumbledore was teasing, his bright blue eyes twinkling at him. And he couldn’t help but try to smile back. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? Professor Snape’s explanation was rather lacking in detail, I’m afraid.”

“Professor Snape is still downstairs, Sir.” Will Graham spoke now, and Hannibal was glad he had mentioned it because he had desperately wanted to. He looked over at his friend, his face now red with a blush instead of pale and nearly ashen. But his eyes weren’t fixed on Dumbledore, who was certainly regarding him with interest, but rather at what seemed to be either a baby chicken or a very old one.

“I think as your education expands, you will come to share a similar ability as Professor Snape.” Dumbledore replied easily, his eyes watching Will watch his strange pet that seemed to have made a nest out of what Hannibal was certain were ashes. There was a beat of silence before Will looked up at him and quickly looked away again, and Hannibal hesitated, words caught in his throat. “When in doubt, I find it best to start a story at the beginning.”

“We were at the feast in the Great Hall,” Hannibal started, and Will visibly relaxed. “I left a little early to finish some reading and part of an essay. I was going back towards the Common Room when I heard something.” He swallowed, remembering that first moment, when all he had seen were the eyes staring back at him, cold and cruel and terribly familiar. “It was in one of the old cells, Sir, closer to the stairs than the Common Room. I didn’t realize what it was at first, actually.”

“You thought it was reality.”

Hannibal nodded.

“This is not uncommon, especially if one is not expecting to see a Boggart, as I doubt you were on your usual route home.” Dumbledore paused, his expression contemplative. “What did you do then?”

“I tried to fight them—it---off, Sir. But my spells weren’t working. I was panicking, and I fell back against the wall, Sir. I was…” He felt himself panicking again, the fear rising in his chest to grip at his heart in a way it hadn’t done since the orphanage. Horrible days, when he couldn’t speak and could feel hunger gnawing at his stomach and when his dreams were haunted by separation and visions of death.

“I left the Great Hall when I saw that Hannibal had left something at his seat. I thought I could catch him before he made it into the Common Room if I ran,” Will interjected, and Hannibal looked at him with what he hoped came across as gratitude rather than a grimace which is what he was certain it actually looked like. “When I got down there, he was on the floor. I could hear him screaming and ran down faster.” Hannibal blinked, he had no memory of screaming.

“And you knew it was a Boggart?’ Dumbledore leaned forward, long fingers folded together on the desk.

“It changed shape, Sir, when I came near it.” He said, slightly stammering. “And there was a rumor that some older students were going to put one somewhere. I wasn’t certain, but I thought that was it. Then Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick showed up, and Professor Snape destroyed it, Sir.”

Dumbledore said nothing, his face contemplative, fingers drumming together slightly.

“I think you were correct in saying, Mr. Lecter, that the pair of you have done nothing worthy of trouble.” He winked at Hannibal, who felt the panic is his chest be assuaged again. “In fact, if I may, I am rather impressed by your…gumption, I think is the word.”

“Thank you, Sir,” They said in unison, causing Hannibal’s lips to twitch into an involuntary smile for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

 

Will leaned back in his chair a bit, letting out a long breath. He wasn’t quite sure why they were there, talking to one of the most powerful wizards of all time, certainly of those still living, about their run-in with the Boggart. He wanted to sleep. But Dumbledore wasn’t speaking again, simply looking at them, and he was starting to feel thoroughly dissected.

“What you are looking at is a Phoenix, Mr. Graham. One of my dearest friends, actually. Faux is his name.” The small bird that had captivated Will was now mewling. “He was reborn only yesterday, but I should hope you will see him again when his plumage returns. He is, in my not so humble opinion, quite magnificent.”

Will tried to picture this small bird as anything but how it looked now, but the image escaped his mind, tiredness not letting it fill him. “I would like that, Sir.”

“I am certain both of you are looking to put this experience behind you,” Dumbledore said, leaning forward again, laying his hands down flat. “I should hope that the school atmosphere allows you to do so, but I want to say to you now that there are often adults incapacitated by Boggarts. What you have done is no easy feat, particularly for two first years.” He gave them a twinkling smile. “Professor McGonagall has told me the pair of you will be doing extra work outside of class.”

“Yes, Sir,” They said again, and Will wanted to smile, but was still fairly nervous.

He looked at them, meeting Will’s eyes, then his gaze flickered to Hannibal as if considering something about them. “I wish you the best of luck then, as the term closes. Do try and stay out of trouble, though I have complete faith in you both.”

It was dismissal, and Will could almost breathe out a sigh of relief at the thought of it. “Happy Halloween, Sir,” He heard Hannibal say to him.

“Mr. Lecter, if you would stay for a moment. You can join Mr. Graham downstairs momentarily.” Will nodded, and started down the stairs. Being away from Hannibal for a moment gave him a second to think. What was it he had seen before the Boggart had transformed? Men, horrible, violent-looking men, creeping closer and closer to his friend. But there was something else. A girl, Hannibal’s sister, perhaps, though it had only been a few seconds. But that wasn’t the strangest of it, he could have sworn, held in one of their grasps, begging for help, had been himself.

He didn’t have much time to consider, Hannibal appeared behind him almost as soon as he had reached the bottom of the stairs, where Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape still stood.

“I will escort Mr. Lecter to the Common Room,” Professor Snape said, and put his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder, who nodded.

“I’ll take you, Mr. Graham, we don’t want anyone getting in trouble with Mr. Filch!” Professor Flitwick said, and Will nodded, certainly agreeing since Mr. Filch seemed to be perfectly unfriendly and rather obsessed with his cat.

“Goodnight, Will,” He turned to Hannibal, meeting his gaze where there was exhaustion and affection writ so largely that he nearly gasped. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Will nearly whispered as Hannibal turned to follow Professor Snape, his robes billowing around him in a near-cloud of fabric.

He was glad Professor Flitwick was there to answer the riddle outside of the Common Room. His brain almost felt frayed and as he slept that night, falling near-exhausted into bed, his dreams moved back and forth between the creature, dark as night and creeping closer and closer to him, and Hannibal, hand wrapped around his own as he pulled him through a forest, over the grounds, sitting across from him on the table. And when he woke the next morning, it was those images that lingered in his mind, his cheeks blushing red but a smile on his face.


	10. Year 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Thanks for continuing to read! I love writing these folks and hope you're enjoying reading about them! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

“You know that no one but a Slytherin has been in our Common Room for centuries,” Tobias Budge was sitting in front of the fire, letting the watery light that reflected from the lake they were under flash across the walls in even waves. He had joined Hannibal there after curfew, when Hannibal had been sitting at the same table for what seemed like a lifetime, trying to finish his last assignment before the end of term: An assignment for the extra Transfiguration class he and Will and Margot Verger and Alana Bloom were taking once every couple of weeks with Professor McGonagall. Most of their work was practical, but she insisted that before they begin learning higher level Transfiguration that they be able to beginning in spring. “Why do you suppose that is?”

“So that no one knew what he was up to.” Hannibal said, voice barely loud enough to be heard. In truth, he had no wish to engage in conversation and hardly realized he had spoken until Tobias let out a harsh laugh.

“I’d say you’re right,” Tobias agreed, “Hard to do what you need if someone’s always watching, you know?” Hannibal, in fact, did not know. He was forced to consider what sort of illicit activities that Tobias Budge thought might require anonymity such as that: Certainly it was clear that Salazar Slytherin had maintained a high degree of secrecy as a means of preventing being ousted for his unhidden desires to rid the school of muggle-born students. The rumors of his violent tendencies and unbidden power had nearly sullied the entire house of Slytherin, a fact that made Hannibal thought about far more than he probably should, it made him uneasy to think that his association with Slytherin would make anyone think that he disliked muggle-born students and preferred the company of students like Tobias Budge which he sincerely wished would stop attempting to befriend him.

“Mhmm.” He said instead, hoping that might end it.

“It’s fascinating to think about those times. What a place this would have been…very…different. You know what I’m saying?” Hannibal set his quill down on the table, having finished a sentence, feeling anger swell in his chest.

“I’m not sure that I do.” He answered, and watched as Tobias’ smile slipped from his face and his eyes from Hannibal’s gaze. 

“I only meant that then it would have been easy to find the right sort of wizard,” He said, his eyes turning fierce. “Like you, for example.”

Hannibal blinked, unaffected by attempted flattery. He knew for a fact that Tobias had few friends, preferring to cling to him as if they had some sort of friendship. Because he felt entitled to one, Hannibal supposed, given their blood status and Tobias’ decent abilities in magic. He shared no such sentiment. He supposed he could thank his parents for that, who had paid no such kind to blood status other than to acknowledge the privilege it gave them. They insisted that if he or Mischa were to mark themselves as better at something, it was because they done other things to merit it. The wizarding world would only be so kind to wizards who were not willing to work, regardless of their family name. It was a sentiment his uncle shared, and he had thus far made no inquiries as to Hannibal’s friends families, though he had to know that Graham was not one of the powerful wizard families that remained in Britain, or elsewhere, and he had seemed to pay no mind. To hear those things from someone like Tobias, another student even, made his mouth dry in anger.

It was a reminder of the day after Professor McGonagall had told them that they might received extra class opportunities: A day he had left happy and cheerful until the start of Herbology. Will Graham’s face had been shadowed with something, something he hadn’t even shared with Beverly Katz, who had been sitting next to him, clearly aware that he was bothered. But, days later, after a sweet, sunny afternoon spent on the castle lawn doing homework, Will had asked him what it was like to be pure-blood. About a dark wizard named you-know-who and what he had done. Hannibal hadn’t had all of the answers. Voldemort had vanished nearly eight years earlier, and he could barely remember anything about it outside of his mothers face when she had told him where to hide if someone came knocking. The same place he had gone, had taken Mischa, and watched her die.

So he told him what he could. About fear and status and power and the fact that his family would most likely be considered Blood Traitors. Maybe not his uncle, but his parent’s surely, or they would have no reason to fear someone like you-know-who. Lord Voldemort, his father had called him once, when he thought Hannibal couldn’t hear them. He knew better than to say the name, especially here. And he told him of the lavish parties they were always invited to, the houses of old families who asked questions only out of politeness and didn’t talk about the people in their family pictures that were missing because they were in Azkaban. And by the end of it, Will Graham had looked at him for a very long time, looked at the grass for even longer, his gaze fixed far away.

“So, nothing I do will ever really matter, will it?” He had asked. “Not when they don’t care. And they have all the power.”

“Of course it will.” Hannibal had said instantly. “You’re already so much better than them.” And Will Graham had smiled at him, the shadow fading from his face.

Now, he was reminded of that same toxic sentiment, sitting across from him in robes that matched his own and with a mindset exposed with perfectly white teeth that caught light from the fire.

“I’m not sure that I’m the right sort of wizard, Tobias,” He finally said, surprised at the smoothness of his words. “I’m not sure your parents would approve of your being friends with someone who associates with muggleborns.”

“I never said---”

“I think that the implication was clear.” Hannibal looked down at his papers again, pretending to read them.

“My family wasn’t one of those families.” Tobias was nearly spitting in indignant anger now, and Hannibal nearly smiled at the fact.

“Wasn’t?” Hannibal asked. “Does that mean they are now?”

And he didn’t hear Tobias’ response since he made it while stomping away towards the first-year dormitory, shoes clicking loudly against the stone.

 

 

“Merlin’s beard,” Beverly cursed under her breath, “Why do you think Snape teaches if he hates children so much?”

“I don’t think he hates us,” Margot Verger said from the couch, stretched out on the blue velvet fabric. Both will and Beverly turned sharply to her, having spent the better part of four hours working on a Potions essay that Will was also convinced was determined to kill them both. “Maybe he’s just sad.”

Beverly put her head facedown on top of her parchment, and Will hoped that the ink was dry so she wouldn’t have listed potions ingredients smeared on her forehead. “It’s probably because he’s always out of shampoo.”

Will knew he shouldn’t laugh, but couldn’t help the snort. Even Margot, in her insistence on giving him the benefit of the doubt, had to crack a small smile. “How far are you , Graham?” With her head still pressed to the table, Beverly’s words came out muffled.

“I just finished, actually.” Will said, “I was going to work on some practice for the Charms practical.”

“You’re already done?” Beverly moaned. “So is Jimmy...bastards.” She said, but sat back up, picking up quill before letting it go again in the inkwell.

“Did you decide what to do for the holidays?” She asked, and he conceded, knowing his friend clearly needed a break. Will was in a bit of a predicament, with his father being called away for a short-term deployment in another part of the UK for most of the season. By the time he made it home, it would be well clear of Christmas, and his father wasn’t even sure that he would make back in time at all.

“I think I’m going to stay here,” He answered. He had talked to Professor Flitwick about it, and the man had made all the arrangements for him to stay at the castle. He thought it might be nice, actually, and Flitwick had even offered that he could accompany a group of older Ravenclaws on a trip into Hogsmeade, the wizarding village nearby, so as long as his father sent permission. After the slip had arrived, he had begun to become increasingly excited, even though end-of-term homework has pushed it from the front of his mind. “It should be fun. I’ve heard that we have Christmas dinner in the Great Hall.”

“It is supposed to be fun. There was a rumor going around that Dumbledore dressed as Father Christmas and that him and McGonagall get drunk on wine and danced to Celestina Warbeck last year until Professor Snape had to carry them both to bed.”

Will grinned, hardly sure that wasn’t an exaggeration. He couldn’t imagine Professor McGonagall getting into such shenanigans, but Dumbledore seemed the correct amount of crazy. “I’ll be sure to keep you posted.” He conceded.

“Hannibal going home?”

“Yeah. He said his sister’s really excited.”

“I still can’t believe he has a sister. That kid has only child written all over him.”

“You’re an only child, Bev.”

“I embrace the fact.”

Will couldn’t help but laugh, wondering if there would ever come a time that he could best Beverly in an exchange of words. He didn’t think so. Especially not since she had effectively outmaneuvered Hannibal with a pun about pickles and made him stop and stare at her for a good half-minute before he could continue talking.

“You looking forward to going home?”

“Mom’s never been more thrilled to have me back now that I’m in Ravenclaw. I think she was worried we wouldn’t ever have anything in common.”

“That’s cheerful.” Margot said it this time and Will couldn’t help but snort. She wasn’t wrong, if there was ever a wizard with a flair for the dramatic, it was Beverly.

“What about you, Margot? Doing anything for the break?” Beverly asked, turning her head to look over at the couch. “Pillaging any villages? Cursing any families? Talking to black cats?”

“Trying to keep my brother from doing those things.” She said, and Will stiffened slightly before Margot gave a thin smile that he could return. As far as he knew, even though she and Beverly were becoming increasingly close, he was the only one who knew about Margot’s family.

“Where are all of these siblings coming from?” She said, pushing her now-fallen hair back off her forehead and turning to Will. “You got a brother I don’t know about?”

“It’s just me.” Will promised, raising his hands in persistence of his own innocence. “Unless there’s something dad isn’t telling me.”

Beverly grinned at him, rolling her eyes at him before letting out a sigh. “I just want to finish this essay.” She finally said and picked up her quill, holding open a book with her other hand.

Will nodded, wrapping up his own parchment and taking out his spool of yarn to practice severing charms. He wondered if Hannibal was finished with his essay yet, he thought he might be since he had hinted that all he had left was their extra essay for McGonagall (which Will was proud to say he had already finished) in what Will thought might have been an offer to go flying one last time before the start of the holidays in the evening the next day. Since the castle had become blanketed with snow, swirling and coating not only the building but the trees and plants and bits of the castle that he had never even noticed before, he was excited to get to see it all from above on his broom.

“My mom wants to know if you have any allergies.” Beverly said suddenly.

“No.”

“Good,” She said, “Then you should probably expect some cake.”


	11. Year 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEy folks! A little slower, little fluffier chapter, but I promise more is coming :) 
> 
> Thank you all for continuing to read, I promise to begin responding to comments, but this week has been crazy! Thank you all for your continued interest in the story!  
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

“Hanni! Hanni!” It wasn’t Mischa’s voice that truly woke him, but the sound of small footsteps padding against the stone leading to his room. “Get up, Hanni! It’s Christmas!” In truth, he was already awake, fully dressed and at the moment combing his hair back. She stood outside his room, not coming in. She knew how important having his space was, but he could feel the impatience behind her steps as she stomped, shifting her weight around on her feet.

“You can come in, Mischa.” After struggling with the heavy door, she pounded in, giggling at his clothes. He was wearing a bright red suit, perfectly in line with the holiday season, garnished with holly leaf pendants on his wrists.

“You look like Father Christmas, Hannibal,” She giggled, and took on of his hands in her own, wrapping small fingers around his own long ones. Though eight years old, she was a tiny child: the malnourishment they had shared at the orphanage had come at a much more critical time for her and though her face had the same sharp softness that their mothers had held. But she was still so small. He remembered a vague memory of his mother, tussling his hair which he had always hated except when she had done it, after he had commented that she looked like one of the Cherub’s on the roof the Sistine Chapel while his mother had held her in her her lap.

_“Oh, Hannibal,” She had laughed. “You have always known too much about things.”_

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking of those things at Christmas, especially since he couldn’t talk about them with anyone except his Aunt while at home. They made his uncle irreparably sad, and he wasn’t exactly sure what they did to Mischa, but her reaction was not normal. It was near-violent, and always littered with sobbing and screams which he had no desire to do to her on her favorite day of the year. Whatever it was, he hoped that it passed in time and there might be a day that they could go to the graveside together and finally bury the past.

She paused them outside of the living room. “Are you Father Christmas, Hannibal?”

“Not unless I haven’t been told something,” But he winked just the same, drawing another giggle from her, as if they were sharing a secret. She pushed the door open with her free hand to where their Aunt and Uncle were drinking rich coffee in front of the decorated tree where enchanted ornaments zoomed around and over the branches.

“Some things from your friends at school came in, Hannibal,” His Aunt said as Mischa squealed at all of the bright, pretty packages and went to unpack a paper crown to put on, sitting on the rug while her skin glowed in the light of the fire near them. Hannibal blinked at the basket of parcels on the bed, wondering exactly who they might be from.

He smiled at them, because perhaps unsurprisingly, there was a large box from Will Graham somewhat haphazardly wrapped in green and silver paper. He looked at the tag, which, in Will’s not so legible handwriting had his name and a caveat that said “Something for Mischa, too!”. There were others, too, that he would open first. From what seemed to be Beverly Katz, Alana Bloom, and a handwritten letter that someone had sent him, though their name was not on the outside.

“Mischa, why don’t you open a present first?” His Uncle said.

“Hannibal never gets to go first.” Mischa said, pursing her lips.

“Alright, then Hannibal, you open one.” His Uncle laughed, “As long as someone gets us started.”

And Hannibal looked at the stack, all of his were easy to spot, wrapped in green and silver since he now had his house. It was also, apparently, a theme between his gifts since the majority of them consisted of Slytherin-based room decorations, green and silver striped socks, and a suit jacket with the emblem of his house embroidered on the pocket. “We can have the sleeves pulled in, but it seemed you had grown a bit.” His aunt had said absentmindedly, and she had been perfectly right since the sleeves fit him perfectly.  He got candies and a new cauldron and all sorts of nice things before they reached the end of the presents, Mischa loving everything she had from a stuffed dragon to a new set of books he had gotten her about the history of Hogwarts.

“It’s your school, Hanni!” She had nearly yelled when she pulled back the wrappings.

“It is indeed,” He had smiled over at her.

“I’m going to go there,” she said, her small fingers pointing at the castle. “Just like you.”

“I look forward to the day it happens,” But whatever else he might have said was swallowed by a huge hug from Mischa who was holding him as tight as she could manage, her yellow curls pressed against his chest.

“Well, before you get into your friends’ gifts, Hannibal, I have one more thing.” His uncle stood and left the room, though continued to talk. Mischa shuffled until she was sitting next to him, still holding onto one of his arms. “I know you’re only thinking about going out for the team next year, but I thought that if you were, you would need the proper equipment at least.”

And his uncle stepped into the room, followed by the most beautiful broomstick Hannibal had ever seen, a Nimbus 1700 with its gleaming wood shining in the fire light. He stood, careful not to dislodge Mischa, and took it in his hands. “Thank you,” He breathed, even the feel of it so different from the Cleansweeps at school.

“I know we have a family broomstick, but I thought you could use your own.” His uncle was grinning ear to ear, even his Aunt looked happy.

“I love it.” Hannibal said, and he couldn’t wait to zoom around the backyard and, next year, the Quidditch pitch.

“What’s in your boxes, Hannibal?” Mischa said, clinging to his sleeve for a moment. He carefully propped his broomstick against the wall, far away from the fire, and started with Beverly’s.

“Happy Christmas, Hannibal.” The note said, and he was unsurprised. He still wasn’t sure if Beverly truly liked him all that much, but she had sent him a gift (he had sent her one as well) so he supposed maybe she just didn’t like to talk about how much she actually liked him. Inside the box was a Rememberall, which made him cock his head a bit until he found the bit of parchment underneath that said, “Not like you’ll use it much!” And he had to laugh a bit, setting it on the table in its box. Very Beverly.

From Alana Bloom was a book of famous witches and wizards who had been in Slytherin, complete with mobile photographs for more recent ones and a short note saying how she appreciated his freiendship. He liked Alana as well, she was exceptionally talented at magic and unfailingly kind, even to people like Randall Tier who made it exceptionally difficult.

He decided to wait on the letter and instead went for Will Graham’s box. “There’s something in here for you, Mischa.” He said, and she scurried over, sitting between him and his Aunt on the couch. Sure enough, there was a small, individually wrapped package with a bit of parchment on the outside with Mischa scrawled on it.

She took it in her hands and began to open it. “It’s from my friend, Will.” Hannibal explained as she carefully pulled at the wrappings. AS she undid the last bit of tape, a huge banner, haphazardly folded, unfurled in her hands with the Hogwarts great seal on it. The perfect size to hang up in Mischa’s room near her bed.

“I love it,” She whispered, and she pulled him into another hug as he dug out his own gift.

It was almost as if he had coordinated with his uncle, because inside was a pair of brand new Quidditch gloves and a pack of leather treatment for him to break them in which covered up a book on a form of magic called Occlumency, which even to Hannibal was a new term.

All at the bottom was a note, “I know you said Mischa wanted to go to Hogwarts more than anything and when I saw the banner, I couldn’t resist getting it for her. I thought you could use the gloves when we played. The book seemed like something you might like to read. Happy Christmas, Hannibal. Will Graham.”

There was something scratched out right before Will’s name, and Hannibal smiled, imagining him stuttering slightly over the words.

“I love Will.” Mischa said, her voice heavy with sleepiness since the excitement was starting to fade as his Uncle began to bewitch all the wrappings to go into the garbage. Hannibal wrapped hi arm around her, feeling her clinging tight to her new banner.

“I think I do, too.” He whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

 

When Will woke up, he was exceptionally glad he had closed the bed curtains because as soon as he poked his head out of them, it felt as though the tip of his nose might freeze off in the cold. The Common Room was empty, he was the only first-year Ravenclaw who had stayed for the break, though the older students had been nothing but nice and he had thoroughly enjoyed his trip with them to Hogsmeade the week before, just in time to do some Christmas shopping. Candies for Jimmy and Brian, chocolate and a book on Charms for Beverly, and a new set of Quidditch gloves and a book for Hannibal. He had found a place where he could exchange the money his dad sent him every month through the regular mail that always managed to arrive by owl regardless, so that he could do some shopping.

Professor Flitwick had even gotten him a Butterbeer which was delicious in its own right and he had bought a couple of bottles to bring back with him to help warm up when it was especially cold. He hardly remembered it was actually Christmas Day until he got downstairs and there were brightly wrapped packages under the tree in the Common Room. He didn’t expect anything, having already received his fathers gift through the mail (money, of course, and a book on caring for magical creatures which had a note attached that said he hoped he liked it since he had ordered it from a catalogue that simply arrived in the mail slot one day).

After breakfast, however, when only some of the presents were gone, and certainly everyone was already awake, he went over the to the tree to find his own name written on several of the tags. His heart leapt, wondering who they might be from. He carried them over to his usual chair in front of the fire, and stacked them there. One, the cake that Beverly had promised her mother would send, was easy enough to find since it said “Eat Soon” and nothing else on the tag. But still he unwrapped it to find a beautiful, Quaffle-looking cake inside. After only a moment’s deliberation, he swiped a finger around the edge to find it was as delicious as it looked, even though he was certain his lips were now a dark red.

The next was a package from Beverly herself which had it in a small sphere full of white smoke. “Happy Christmas, Will!” It said on the tag, “Remember to get evidence of Dumbledore dancing. Love, Beverly Katz.” The sphere was beautiful, but he wasn’t sure of its purpose, so he set it carefully on the table, determined to remember to ask. Also packed inside was a chocolate frog, unopened, and a chocolate frog card with Rowena Ravenclaw that he stacked on the table as well, planning to stack it with the Dumbledore card he had gotten from his own frog at Honeydukes.

The next box was from Jimmy and Brian with an explanation that they had pooled their money and inside was a pair of Hufflepuff gloves for him to wear with them to Hufflepuff matches when they weren’t playing Ravenclaw, and a bag of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans which he was worried about trying, given the list of flavors on the back.

The next was from Margot Verger, which was completely unexpected. It was a figurine, that as he pulled it from the box, began to zoom around on a tiny broomstick, flying all around its base, wearing the uniforms of one of the professional Quiddtich teams which Will couldn’t remember the names of except for the Hollyhead Harpies because Beverly talked about them near constantly at matches. There was a short note, thanking him for listening, but other than that, there was little else. He smiled and set the little Quidditch player on the table, letting him zoom around Beverly’s gifts.

The final box, one that made his heart hammer just a tiny bit, was a beautifully wrapped sapphire box with bronze ribbons done up in a fantastic bow from Hannibal Lecter. Inside, the box was filled with layers of gifts, the top being a set of Christmas cookies done up to look like witches’ hats, one of which he munched happily while continue to go through. The next was a book detailing the history of all of Hogwarts Ghosts which he was certain would contain at least a few pages on Helena Ravenclaw.

He had finally learned her last name the second day of the break when he had gone down to the dungeons again to find her floating listlessly as usual. He had sat on the ledge, and perhaps for the first time, she had spoken nearly freely around him. Asked him about classes while he inquired about her interests. It had been an easy conversation, one that he could tell she appreciated having, and when he had promised to return before the end of the break to speak with her again, she had actually given a bit of a smile before disappearing.

Then there was a copy of Quidditch through the ages and a poster of Puddlemere United which he knew as Hannibal’s Uncle’s favorite team. And then, down at the bottom, there was a gold and silver ticket. He picked it out of the bottom, squinting to the read the cursive writing along the sides. “Quidditch World Cup” it said, listed for late the next summer.

He blinked, and blinked again. The seats were incredible, the ticket price must have been astronomical. He felt guilt mix with his overwhelming excitement at the prospect of getting to see the best of the best in Quidditch, all in one place, with Hannibal.

He pulled out the letter at the bottom, reading it carefully. All well wishes and apologies that Will was by himself. And an official invitation to the World Cup, “My Uncle has connections, and we would love for you to come with us next summer,” It said, “My Uncle is mailing your father to put everything in place, but Mischa and my Aunt are very excited to get to meet you. I’ve told them all how incredible you are at flying and my Aunt said it would be a real shame if you didn’t get to attend a World Cup. I’m inclined to agree with her.” He kept reading, pausing every couple of minutes to look at the ticket, “I miss you already and am looking forward to being back. Your friend, Hannibal Lecter.”

And that night, ticket tucked safely away, Will pinned up the poster and the tags from various people. But he tucked Hannibal’s letter away in his drawer, not realizing exactly how much he had missed him the past week.


	12. Year 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! Thanks for reading! :D 
> 
> I am, right now anyway, looking for some inspiration for some one-shot stories over on tumblr (you can also leave them here in the comments), just to keep the creative juices flowing a provide a break fro myself from my longer series. They can be wild, wacky, anything really, but if you have something you want written or think would be interesting, let me know! I can't make promises, but I can give it a go! You can find me on tumblr at this same name!
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

Will Graham was sad. Not the kind of sad that he was expecting to be, he was more of a sad that he supposed people might feel when they’re on the cusp of some great change. Excitement, surely, for the things that were coming, but sadness still for the things that were going away. Facing the pending break, only one more night separating him from his train ride home, and he was feeling that peculiar sadness now. As he watched, Hannibal spiraled around the hoops, tossing the practice Quaffle through a hoop before zooming around to catch it again in his hands. How many nights this year had they spent out here on the pitch? Enough that other people had begun to notice that they did it. Enough that the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain (presumably, at least) had approached Will about trying out for the next year.

He tried to think back, kicking off the ground, chasing around the fluttering snitch just for fun, steering his broom in easy arcs and slow swirls instead of the fast-paced, jostling turns that happened when he and Hannibal would race to catch it. And what came to mind was memories of what seemed an uncountable number of evenings, some dusted with snow or the aftermath of the near-daily rain showers. Some with sun so bright he could remember squinting. Some where they had collided but not crashed until they had to stop and fall into a laughing mess on the ground, cloaks collecting dust.

He let the Snich pass through his fingers, watching as it spiraled around the Hufflepuff house tower, spinning all the way to the top until flittering off towards Hannibal at the other end of the pitch. Will grinned and flew after it, seeing an opportunity for at least mischief. Hannibal had been quiet the last few days, his words and actions much quieter than normal as opposed to his normally avid conversations with Will like when he had come home from Christmas. Will thought that Hannibal was having the same bouts of peculiar sadness at their pending separation.  But he didn’t want their last night out here, together until maybe late August when Will already had plans to spend a week at Hannibal’s house for the World Cup, to be one that was entirely quiet.

He leaned forward, pressing his body until the broom was going probably as fast as the old Cleansweep could go, and he could feel his curls pushed all the way back off his head, glasses askew. Hannibal wasn’t looking, his eyes fixed through the hoops at some far off thing, though Will knew his time was limited if Hannibal heard the Snitch. The little golden ball was practically ancient, not flying nearly as fast as the ones they ordered for matches, but since he didn’t plan on being a Seeker anyway, this one was plenty good enough for the pair of them. He watched as it flew right past Hannibal’s shoe, and, as Hannibal looked up to track it, Will reached out with his hand, pretending to reach for the Snitch and instead grabbing Hannibal’s foot, spinning them both in a broad circle.

Hannibal yelped in a very un-Hannibal like fashion, gripping his broom hard as Will let go and headed for the Snitch that was spiraling away. As soon as Hannibal had his bearings, he could hear Hannibal coming up behind him, before the Snitch took a sharp turn straight for the ground. Will dived, hearing him yell with the pure thrill of it, reminded so much of their first time out flying that he could hardly stand it, and Hannibal chasing after him.

He pulled out of the dive not a moment too soon, wrapping covered fingers around the little ball before dismounting his broom, still laughing.

“You could have pulled me off my broom,” He heard Hannibal shout as his friend landed next to him. But he was grinning, one of his unusually pointy teeth catching on his lip.

“Sorry,” Will replied, laughing and waving the Snitch, “I was doing important things.”

Hannibal stood next to him for a moment and the pair of them looked out over the campus. After a moment, Hannibal turned to face him. “I don’t want to go home,” He was quiet. As if ashamed.

“I don’t either.” Will answered honestly. “I wish we didn’t have to but we’ll talk again soon. The World Cup will be here sooner than you know.” He said, but he could hear himself almost wistful. “And, besides, there are always letters.”

But he was interrupted in whatever the next thought may have been, the next attempt at comforting his friend by Hannibal touching the side of his face gently. He turned to him, blinking once at him, Hannibal’s face almost dark red in a way Will had never seen. But what his friend was embarrassed by he wasn’t sure. Then he leaned forward, very unsure, it seemed, and waited a moment for Will to pull away. And when he didn’t, he pressed his lips on the corner of Will’s mouth in a soft, tiny, chaste kiss. He felt himself blushing, face going red.

He opened his mouth to speak, but stuttered instead, not sure what to say. He didn’t know Hannibal liked him. Beverly had said it a couple of times, Margot even had asked him once, but he didn’t think it was true! He didn’t know what to do, and so he stood.

“I’m going to go back now.” Hannibal said, and Will could tell he was confused. He turned, mounting his broom to fly back and it was only in the last breaths that Will stopped him.

“Wait!” He yelled, breaking the silence, and grabbed the edge of Hannibal’s sleeve. Hannibal turned, eyes full of something that might have been hope, and Will smiled at him, feeling vaguely like he was floating. “I’ll go with you.” He said, and they took off, side by side back to the castle.

 

 

“Hannibal!” Mischa was waiting for him, running towards him as soon as he stepped off onto the platform, pushing away from his aunt and Uncle and through the throng of collected people to wrap her arms around his waist.

“Hello, little Mischa.” He said setting down his bag to lift her off the ground. She had just turned nine, was finally too tall for him to really do that, but she laughed at the same. “Let’s go over to aunt and uncle, shall we?” She reached up and took his little box so that she could be helpful and held it dutifully with both hands even though he knew she wanted to loop her arm with his.

“Welcome back, Hannibal.” His Aunt pulled him into a short hug, followed by the same from his uncle, who seemed to be focusing on a wizard up the platform. “Are you ready to go?”

He looked up the platform, seeing Beverly Katz being hugged by a two ministry officials who he knew were her parents, and Brian Zeller standing with a man who looked very much like him, including the very curly hair, and Tobias Budge and a large group of his family, and Bedelia du Maurier who was leaving the platform by herself, and Jimmy Price with an elderly woman who could only be his grandmother, and, finally, at the very end, Will Graham being held to the chest of a man in an American military uniform who ruffled Will’s hair before taking his suitcase.

He wanted Will to look up at him, one last time. And it was only a second before a pair of bright blue eyes met his with a final wave as he was led away.

“I am now.” Hannibal said. “What do you have planned for our day, Mischa?”

“Ice cream.” She said, very importantly as they left for where they could apparate home. “And then I want to hear all of your stories.” She added, before clinging to his uncle while she and Hannibal’s Aunt whisked them away in a swirl of magic to their home for the summer.


	13. Year 1: Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Thank you all for still reading, your comments and interactions really make my day more than you know! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter as well, our boys wont be apart for too long, I promise! 
> 
> I'm still looking for prompts on things to write about, so let me know in the comments or on tumblr (at the same name) if you have any ideas, thoughts, or suggestions. Any rating, any pairing, send it my way. I can't make promises, but I can give it a go! Thanks folks :) 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy, and please R and R, let me know what you think!

Dear Will,

When I told my mom that you didn’t have an owl to send letters and would need to contact us via the Royal Mail Service, she insisted we send this. I’ve been calling him Hooke after the short man Isaac Newton made fun of (Muggles are quite strange), since its so small, but he’ll certainly get the job done. I’m not sure the breed, the man who sold it was more than a little questionable when I talked to him, but Hooke is awfully cute.

Mom is mad at me for not telling her your birthday was in June before now, but don’t be surprised if your next letter contains a cake courtesy of mom or dad. I have your present already, of course, but I swear the two of them like you better than they do me. Unavoidable really, you know how ridiculous I can be, but its also there loss because you and I both know I’m a damn delight.

How is your summer going? Are you getting excited for the World Cup? Dad is more excited than all of the rest of Germany, I think, and it turns out he was able to get some tickets, so we might see you there! But Dad is also afraid of Hannibal’s uncle, so we may need to work that out a bit.

Have you been getting into anything interesting? I always picture muggles sitting in tiny rooms, staring at the wall, wondering why they don’t have magic, but since I don’t think that’s the case (for your family anyway), I hope things are at least better than that.

With Love,

Beverly Katz

 

Dear Will,

I can’t believe you can’t tell anyone that you’re a wizard.. Where do they think you went for nine months? Prison?

What all have you been into? I’ve been reading one of the books on Herbology you suggested. It’s actually really interesting, particularly when you look at Potions. Brian says I’m a nerd, but Potions are actually really interesting, and I’m hoping to have a better year with them next year. Maybe even get a compliment from Professor Snape.

How are you doing? I remember you got a job doing something, walking dogs right? What about Quidditch? Are you still thinking of trying out? Because Ravenclaw could use some half-decent Chasers and a couple of Beaters wouldn’t hurt.

Talk soon,

Jimmy Price

 

Dear Will,

I’m inclined to send Beverly a thank you letter myself for giving you Hooke. He is quite cute, Mischa was very taken with him, as was my Uncle whom I caught sneaking him bits of bread when he first sat on the window seal upon his arrival. Your letter was nearly as large as his foot! He was quite tired I think. I hope he comes back to you now in good health, I’ll send our larger bird along with your birthday present as I’d hate for him to have to fly too low in delivering it you.

I hope that your summer has been interesting thus far: I miss our conversations about things more than I can say, it is a travesty, I think, to only be able to read something and not to be able to discuss it with someone who understands. Have you been reading anything as of late? I know you intended to finish the book your father got you on Care of Magical Creatures, but I wasn’t certain how far that had progressed. I would love to hear about it if you are inclined to share, it’s an area where I have little knowledge on the subject.

How is your job going? I still am not entirely certain what you mean by dog walking, but I hope that it is both entertaining and well-paid.

I am looking forward to the day you come to visit more than anything. Mischa as well is excited to meet you, along with my Aunt and Uncle to whom you only exist in my stories at the moment. Be prepared for an exciting day, most likely, when you arrive. My uncle will send instructions to your father on our coming to pick you up. He is waiting on some paperwork to get back from the Ministry of Magic, and I hope that I will be able to let you know more in my next letter.

With love and well wishes,

Hannibal Lecter

 

Dear Will,

I felt compelled to write you and let you know that since I have done so well this year, my father has agreed, at least for now, to let me return to Hogwarts next year. I owe you and Beverly more than I can say. Don’t feel compelled to write back, but if you like, I’d love to hear how your summer is going.

Best,

Margot Verger

 

Dear Will,

Don’t be surprised when you arrive if there is another owl very like yours in our home: Hooke’s arrival with your letter this week made Mischa so ecstatic that my Aunt sees it certainly as worth it, particularly since she has already expressed sadness at my leaving to return to school. This past week, she and I were able to go with one of my Uncle’s friend’s children to their estate. It was nice to get away for a day, but the company was dreadful. Particularly compared to yours. I think one of them may have been part troll, but it was nice of them to invite us. I found myself wishing for a conversation with you or Beverly or Alana in which I could have an actual argument. My Aunt teased that Mischa was not the only one excited about the arrival of your letter, but I digress.

I am so glad that you enjoyed your birthday gift: Quality Quidditch Supplies is a store you should certainly stop into when you return to Diagon Alley to get things for next year. If you are still planning on purchasing a broom with your dog walking money, you’ll find it there most easily of any place. I miss our evenings spent on brooms, but look forward to getting to perhaps fly on opposing teams next year. I think I have decided to go out for Keeper since the old one is returning and I am taller in stature than most of the other people I know who are trying out.

I apologize for the brevity of this letter, but I think it will be the last we exchange before seeing each other again in person. I am looking forward to the day immensely and hope you are as well. Instructions should arrive right after this letter.

I attached a small bag of snacks I made for Hooke. He seems to enjoy them quite a bit, even though they are mostly peanut butter.

With Love and Best Wishes,

Hannibal Lecter


	14. Year 1: Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Be ready for a bit of time jump coming up: the plan is to do this story in four installments, so this chapter concludes the first part. For those who came here for Dark!Hogwarts, have no fear, we are (un)fortunately getting there! 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at the same name!

“So, do you think they’ll know how to use the doorbell? Or should one of us wait outside?” Will’s father looked over at him, tapping his fingers on the arm of one of their recliners. Will sat in the other one, all of his things laid out beside him. Because of a pending but brief return to the states, Will’s trip to Hannibal’s house for the World Cup had changed from a week-long stay to a week and a half long stay, and so the pair of them were sitting in Will’s living room with all of his belongings for both the trip and the school year. Hooke was hooting happily in his new cage, resting on the armchair.

“I don’t know. The letter said to wait in the living room.” Will answered, tapping his heel on the floor. If he was being honest, he also had no idea what is going on, but Hannibal’s Uncle’s instructions were very clear that they needed to wait in their living room, with the fireplace (which they never used) cleared out to make things easier. They were due in less than three minutes from now, but Will wasn’t sure, unless they were actually a family of Santa Clauses, how having the fireplace clear would help them.

“I’m sorry I can’t take you to school, Will. You know I wouldn’t miss it if they would let me stay.” Will did know that, he had helped his father fill out his appeal for delay forms so that he could make it through that weekend, but it had been to no avail. He hadn’t been back to the states in a very long time, and this briefing was essential, apparently, to “the diplomatic integrity of the USAF working relationship with the whole of the United Kingdom”, so it wasn’t difficult for Will to see why he to do it. “Do you have the money I gave you?” Will nodded, patting his chest where he knew his father liked for him to keep his money while traveling. He wasn’t sure how they were getting back to Hannibal’s house, maybe by broom, and he knew his father would want him to keep his money safe. He had received a notice from Hogwarts that money for his spellbooks and supplies would be arriving shortly at his location. He had written back to make sure they knew what his location would be, but Hooke had returned with no confirmation. He assumed that Professor Dumbledore, or whomever was in charge of that, would take care of it.

“I’m proud of you, bud, I just wish I could see you more.” But whatever else his father was going to say was interrupted by their fireplace erupting into flame. Not ordinary flame, but bright, flashing green ones, from which a tall man in both a suit and an outer set of wizard robes stepped carefully. He dusted his hands off as Will sat, staring at him in stunned silence for a moment before the fireplace lit up again and a Japanese woman, dressed similarly but with a bit more color, joined the man.

“Hello,” The man said, ignoring as the flames lit up again and this time, “Robertas Lecter.” He extended a hand to Will’s father who was still sitting, eyes blown wide open. Then Hannibal stepped out of this third set of flames, and nearly roared with delight when he saw Will.

Will stood as well, running and pulling Hannibal into a hug. His hair was longer, but combed back off his head more severely. He was impossibly taller, though the height difference between them had changed, and Will had grown as well. Right now, he had ashes on his own suit and robes, and he dusted them off quickly.

“Colonel Arthur Graham,” Will heard his father say as he stepped back from Hannibal, unable to stop smiling at him, not quite believing what had happened. “Its nice to meet you.”

“I brought you a copy of the official papers from the Ministry of Magic,” Hannibal’s uncle said, reaching into his robes and pulling out a packet. “Your fireplace wasn’t registered on the Floo network, so I assume you wanted to keep it that way. Once we leave, it should seal itself back, but if you do get any visitors, contact the person listed on the bottom of the page.” Will watched his father take the stack of papers in his hand, looking at the wax seal holding them together.

“What’s the Floo network?” Will asked, and the three wizards turned to him, as well as his father who looked very relieved he had asked.

“One of the means of wizard transportation, it’s easier, especially for families, than broom or Portkey, and a lot less risky than apparition.” Hannibal explained. “The fireplaces are set up on a network. Ours is private, most muggle fireplaces aren’t registered so people don’t accidentally pop out of them.”

Hannibal stepped around him and lifted up on end of Will’s trunk, leaning it back on its wheels. “Are you ready to go, WIll?”

Hannibal’s Aunt and Uncle stepped around him, picking up various things until all that was left for him to carry was his small rucksack and Hooke’s cage. “Bye, dad!” He said, and pulled his father into a hug. The man was still slightly shaken by this whole episode, but he hugged him tightly. “I’ll write you soon!”

“Take this, pour it in your hand, Will.” He handed Will a small baggie filled with greenish powder. “Stand there.” Will maneuvered into the fireplace, feeling perfectly ridiculous, a fact he was assured of by his father’s face. “Say Lecter Estate, and give it a throw.”

“Lector Estate.” Will said, and watched as his own living room disappeared in flames as he stumbled forward out of fireplace into an unfamiliar room, Hooke hooting wildly at their short adventure/

 

Hannibal was a beginning to be quite nervous. Will Graham was being rather quiet, and even though Will had never been a big talker, he had said nearly nothing since he arrived. They had finally made it, on their tour of the house, to Hannibal’s bedroom, where all of Will’s things were next to the day bed on the far wall, stacked neatly.

He was standing instead, looking at Hannibal’s drawings that he had pinned on the wall. Hannibal looked, trying not to be self-conscious as Will looked at them. Drawings of Mischa, playing various games. Drawings of his parents that were now the only way he could remember the intricoes of his mother’s face, his father’s smile. And the picture was fading. But there were new ones too, pictures he had drawn last year. Will on his broom, Will and Beverly with their outerwear, laughing over pots in Herbology, Will and Alana Bloom during one of their extra transfiguration lessons, Will, Beverly, Jimmy, and Brian at breakfast. Will had been looking at them for what felt like a whole lifetime.

“Are you alright, Will?”

Will startled, nearly jumping. “Yeah,” He said, “Of course. I just…I didn’t know you had made these.”

“My Aunt puts a resin on them. She didn’t know I drew these early ones, so they’re a bit faded.”

“Did you draw these at school?”

“Over the summer, actually.”

Will reached out and touched one that was simply of his face, smiling broadly, glasses slightly askew. “There are a lot of me.” He said softly, almost to himself.

Hannibal felt his face warm. “Yes, well, I just…I wanted to…”

“I don’t mind.” Will said, and as Hannibal looked, his own cheeks were red. “Beverly thinks you like me. Margot, too. And then we…well, you know…we kissed, so I thought maybe you did, too…and, well..”

Hannibal felt his heart hammering in his chest, almost in his throat. “I wasn’t sure if you liked me, as well.” He admitted. “It’s okay if you don’t, you’re my best friend, that’s more than enough for me.”

“But I do like you, back.” Will said, and then clamped his mouth shut, blushing almost brightly.

“Oh.” Hannibal said, and it felt like the weight that had been sitting on his chest all summer was finally gone, and that he could breath. His stomach fluttered. “Oh.”

“Boys!” He heard his Uncle yell from another part of the house. “It’s dinnertime, Mischa will be here any moment.”

Hannibal could have both cursed and kissed his uncle for ending that moment, but he knew they had to go downstairs either way. But Will reached out and touched Hannibal’s hand gently, waiting for just a moment before he raised his hand to press their palms together and interlace their fingers before he pulled back and they went downstairs.

 

Will felt like he was flying, hair whipping so fast by his eyes that he wanted to close his eyes and picture it was him flying around the cheering crowds, catching the Quaffle or hitting bludgers of chasing a Snitch to thousands of adoring fans. Their seats, right in the center, eye-level with where the teams had taken off at the beginning, were incredible. If he leaned to far forward over the railings, he would fall to the pitch below, but he thought that honestly, that might let him die happy.

He had seen here the Minister for Magic for the first time, an odd, stubby little man named Fudge who Hannibal’s Uncle did not disguise his dislike for. The German team had come out, explosive in their entrance, the four men and three women on their team flying in a perfect formation, their Seeker standing on her broom as she entered, followed by a fantastic glowing wave of magic that had pitched around the crowd, painting the stands with the German colors. The Italians had been more subtle, but no less stunning, each member of the team flying in on the backings of what Will assumed were famous Italian songs, pulling off spectacular dives and feints and arcs until they the entire crowd on their feet except the German fans.

Now, nearly two hours into the game, and Will could hardly breathe for the excitement of it all. He was yelling along with the rest of them, and even though Hannibal didn’t yell, he was leaned forward to see just as much and clapped and cheered at each play. The Italian chasers, a team of three women, were the best Will had ever seen, and it was no wonder that they had made it this far. But the German keeper was a tried and true veteran, and the score, while Italy was ahead, was below the cusp of what was needed for them to make it a safe game and keep the Snitch in their corner. The Seekers were incredible, the Beaters were making hits as often as saving other members, and more than one set of box seats had fallen victim to a Bludger. One of the Beaters had nearly been knocked from their broom by a Bludger they hadn’t seen, but they managed to cling onto it, saving Italy another German goal with a well-hit ball.

“Look!” Hannibal yelled to him, distracting him from the Chasers to where the Seekers where in a locked spiral, flying straight downwards at an even clip. The crowd was on its feet, cheering for each as they flew closer and closer to the ground. Only feet away, the Italian Seeker finally pulled away, boots still scraping the ground and knocking him on his broom, but the German Seeker went down the extra foot, pulling up hard and fast to wrap her fingers finally around the Snitch that hovered less than a foot from her to a deafening roar of both cheers and boos.

Will, who had no stake in what team won, grabbed onto Hannibal’s arm cheering so loudly he wondered how loud the crowd must have been for him not to hear himself. She made her loops around the stands, fans reaching out for the fluttering ball held captive in her wrist while the final score was tallied for the official records. Will wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn she looked right at him as he flew by.


	15. Year Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Please note the time jump from the last section, though we'll be in this time frame for a while. Thank you all for still reading and checking this out! 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at this same name for my URL, I'm happy to chat Hannibal (and most other things) anytime.

The platform at 9 ¾ still held for Will this strange sense of magic, even though this was his fifth time pushing through the crowd of sniffling first-years and their crying, excited parents, some confused muggles, others proud wizards sending off little ones. He had noticed something strange in that there were extra wizards out and about today, waiting giddily on something to appear. Harry Potter, he thought it must be, but he hadn’t seen any sign of the child who had supposedly defeated Voldemort. No sign of a black-haired boy with perfectly round spectacles, which is what he had been reported as looking like, no report of some large, overwrought warrior either, which is more along the lines of what the rumors favored of Harry Potter. Either way, it was more difficult to move his trunk through the crowd, less difficult to slice through crowds since nearly everyone was standing still instead of milling around like fish.

He climbed on board, not looking back since his father hadn’t been able to make it, and went to find Hannibal who he had learned second year had a habit of arriving quite early in order to secure his favorite compartment near the front of the train. Sure enough, he was there, head leaned back against the seat backing, hands folded in his lap as he gazed out onto the platform. Will frowned, afraid that he would be alone. “If you go too long without blinking, you’re going to need glasses like me.” Will said, startling Hannibal from his trance. He looked up, a genuine smile of excitement on his face, even though it was clear he was troubled.

Will sat down across from him, sitting forward so his knees were pressed against Hannibal’s leg, happy to be close. “Is Mischa staying home, then?”

“One more year.” Hannibal said. “They have her a private tutor, but she is still too sick to come to school I’m afraid.”

Will said nothing, but laid his fingers over Hannibal’s own for a moment, squeezing them gently before sitting back in his seat. He had letter from the summer, dutifully delivered by Hooke and Hannibal’s family owl at all hours of the night that continued Hannibal’s near-mad scratchings about Mischa’s frailty. Her failing health, after taking a nasty turn two summers before, was wearing on Hannibal. There were many days, back when they were too small, really, to think about much, when Hannibal had cried and Will had been there. They were not memories they discussed, but they were memories that Will thought of often and held close to his heart; mixed with memories of sneaking out the year before to lie on the grass at night and stare at the stars, holding hands and pointing out odd constellations while talking in clear whispers, not for fear of being caught, but for fear of ruining the comfortable quiet.

“Harry Potter is coming to Hogwarts this year.” Will said, looking as a group of giggling second-year Gryffindors walked by their compartment, glancing inside at them before hurrying past. “Maybe they’ll roll out the red carpet.”

“You become more and more cynical every time I see you, Will.” Hannibal said, but grinning nonetheless. “He did save the Wizarding World after all.”

“Poor sap probably doesn’t remember a bit of it.” Will said, and Hannibal gave an involuntary laugh. “And I never took you for the hero worship type.”

“I don’t worship heroes. Rarely do they deserve credit for much more than a successful self-advertising campaign.”

“Who’s cynical now?” Will laughed, lightness washing over him. He never realized how much be missed simply being near Hannibal until they were together again. Their many outings to London and days spent at each other’s homes over the summer were simply not enough. Even Hannibal’s families recent outing to Diagon Alley, which Will had accompanied them on, seemed so far away now.

But before he could say anything else, the door opened. “Swap me seats, Lecter.” Beverly stepped into the compartment, dressed in her full robes. Hannibal obliged, snorting, knowing that Will preferred the window seat and not truly upset since Jimmy and Brian would be along shortly and the three would be crammed into the other side. She gave them both a brief hug before finally sitting down, stretching out in the compartment. “How have you all been then? I haven’t seen either of you in nearly a month.”

Will launched into a tale of his own adventures at home the last week or so since a letter had last come from Beverly. Nothing much had happened: He had read books to get an early start for O.W.L.s, he told them about his correspondence with Professor Flitwick who wanted to meet with him as soon as he had settled into classes to talk about his future career options. With strong enough academics, paths were starting to open up to him, and he was excited to start looking. Beverly said she had received something similar, and though it seemed Professor Snape had not been overly enthused about reaching out to people, Hannibal did say he had received a letter as well, requesting a meeting.

“Do you know who our other Prefect is?” Beverly asked suddenly, leaning forward. “Besides you, obviously.” Will had nearly forgotten that at some point in the train ride, he would have to go up to the front, owing to the heavy badge in his pocket. He had assumed, at first, that Beverly might be the other Prefect.: Professor Flitwick loved her, as well as most of the other Professors, and she was an exceptionally talented wizard. But she had assured him, before summer started that she had specifically asked him not to make her a Prefect owing to the fact that she was far too busy with mischief to do it properly. Judging by her current detention record, especially since she and Brian had started unofficially dating since the year before, there was certainly some truth to it.  

“I don’t actually,” Will replied, “Who is It for Slytherin, Hannibal?”

“Katie Purnell, I believe. Her father was bragging about it at the Scamander Fund Gala.”

“How was that?” Beverly asked, snorting, “Mum tried to get me to go, since Dad didn’t want to go either.”

“Perfectly dreadful.” Hannibal smiled, and Will did as well at Beverly’s laugh and the feeling of Hannibal lacing their fingers together between them on the seat.

“Well, I know Jimmy is for Hufflepuff and Alana Bloom and Percy Weasley for Gryffindor. Merlin, that list reads like a who’s who of the nerds at this school.” She winked over at them, “But then again, someone has to wrangle the first-years.”

 

 

Hannibal didn’t think he had ever been more exhausted. He was stretched on his bed in the Slytherin dorm which seemed much smaller than it had before, letting the last days run through his head. Today especially, with the train ride and corralling what seemed to be dozens of first-years (the population was finally starting to pick up again) including an annoying little sod with his hair slicked back so much it made him look nearly bald, before their tour of the Prefects facilities and a final meeting as a group before they finally got to retire. But by then, he had hardly wanted to leave Will. He hadn’t seem him most of the summer, and though he treasured his written letters, where Will could write beautifully and fluidly about so many things, more than he could say, it was not the same. In fact, when they had finally parted ways on the grand staircase, letting go of his hand felt like a great loss, leaving behind it an ache in his now cold fingers and in his chest which he longed to have assuaged.

But his return to Hogwarts had brought a lightness as well. He loved the castle, the truest sense of home. He loved his Aunt and Uncle, but home had been destroyed for him so long ago that their vast palace never truly felt like one. But here, where it was full of magic and mystery and tradition and knowledge and his friends and Will Graham, he could be happier.

His mind still lingered, though, at home with Mischa. Twelve years old now, she continued to grow weaker. Stays at St. Mungo’s had done nothing to help, as there was little discernible cause as to her illness. She remained small and frail, and he could do nothing but watch the last two years as she slowly grew fainter. But he could see that his presence revived her also, brought life back to her when her cheeks would glow as he would lie next to her on her bed and tell her a story about school or Quidditch or his extra Charms lessons. She wanted to see his Patronus, but he told her that he was actually yet to be able to make a corporeal one, but that she would be one of the first to see it when he managed it. The image of her sleeping against his chest, exhausted from fighting her own battles, but clinging to him weighed on him now, especially since he had left her at home.

He sat up, needing something to occupy his hands, and took to hanging up his Quidditch robes so as to avoid unnecessary wrinkles before he wore them to fly around the pitch in only a few weeks time. They were rich emerald, the same as the rest of the teams, but he had sewn on the inside of his sleeve a small raven that he could grip between his fingers during matches, feeling the rough stitches of the patch. He looked at it now, the rough patch almost unnoticeable, and smiled at the thought of Will, who he could picture speeding towards him on the pitch, Quaffle in his hands, trying his best to outmaneuver him, even while smiling broadly. He had managed several times, being an extraordinary Chaser, but there were times Hannibal had repelled the ball as well, protecting his hoops as best he could. The thought that either of them might be letting the other win had finally died down to a point of almost nonexistence.

“Good evening.” Tobias Budge was standing next to his own bed, organizing his own trunk. “Good summer?”

“Fairly.” Hannibal replied evenly. It seemed that every year was destined to be a tumultuous one for the pair of them, where they had both civil and uncivil moments in and out of class, the worst of which had bene third-year when Tobias had very clearly tried to hex Will Graham during class while he as turned, and Hannibal had instead blocked and fired it back at him, leaving Tobias in the Hospital Wing for a good three days. While it had put a stop to Tobias’ actual attack on Will, it had gained Hannibal the unfortunate attention of Frederick Chilton, an irritating boy in the year below them who now seemed to worship anyone he thought could help him get somewhere. Hannibal did his best, now, to avoid him. “Yourself?”

“Good. I spent it traveling with my mother to the United States, actually. She deals in rare artifacts there, and it was nice to be able to go somewhere new.”

“I’m glad it went well, then.” Hannibal said, and though he knew Tobias was waiting on something else, he was hardly in the mood to talk and after a few minutes of silence, simply laid back down on his bed.

“You made Prefect, right? You and Katie?” Apparently Tobias did not understand the intricacies of avoiding conversation.

“Yes.”

“Who are the others, then?” Hannibal looked over at his table, where his collection of photographs moved happily, propped up in perfect alignment next to his wand. A picture his Aunt had taken of him and Will at the Quidditch World Cup so long ago (they hadn’t been able to get tickets for this summer) with matching scarves they had bought with the Italian flag colors after their victory. One of him and Will and Beverly at their last trip to London, sitting outside Florian Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, Will with a bit of chocolate on his face (the picture taken by an overzealous photographer who had charged a few sickles for a print), one of him and Mischa with him dressed in his Quidditch robes while she held a Quaffle in her hands after he had made the team in his Second Year.

“Will Graham and Margot Verger for Ravenclaw, percy Weasley and Alana Bloom for Gryffindor, Jimmy Price and Katherine Pimms for Hufflepuff.”

“Interesting group.”

“I suppose you’re right.” And Hannibal closed his eyes, thankful that Tobias at least seemed to get the hint, and instead let himself drift into dreams about happier things.

 


	16. Year 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Sorry for the delay in posting, I've been traveling the last few days and with limited time and unreliable wifi, this one is a little late in coming! Don't worry, it won't be like that again for a while! 
> 
> Anywho, as always, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Pelase R and R, let me know what you think!

“I don’t think we should be out here so late, Will.” Hannibal felt another tug on his hand, pulling him through the final part of the small passageway out onto the grounds, the grass already heavy with dew.

“Of course we shouldn’t.” Will said back, but that didn’t stop him from pulling Hannibal further until they were away from the castle windows casting light out onto the grass and over into the group of trees they had spent many lazy afternoons talking about things that still felt very far away. Hannibal watched as Will pulled what looked like a towel from his robes: One second valuation it was most definitely a towel from the prefects bathroom which even Hannibal had to admit was nearly worth the extra responsibilities.  The towel was large enough that they could both lie down, barely overlapping, and look straight up at the sky.

Hannibal laid next to Will, not willing to begrudge him this after he had gone through all this effort. “I hope you aren’t risking detention on my account.”

“You’ve hardly smiled all week.” Will replied softly, moving to hold his hand against his stomach, his own fingers laid over them. “I thought this might be nice.”

Hannibal didn’t say anything, remembering the first night that they had come out here. He had stormed out of the castle, nearly blind in his need to simply get away, and he had found himself hear. And then Will had found him. And he had listened as he cried and told him what was wrong with Mischa and how all she wanted was to come to Hogwarts with him, even though he’d left her behind again, and how he didn’t think she’d survive his time there. And Will…Will had listened and held him close and simply sat there for the longest time until he didn’t think he could feel anything. And then, as the middle of the night had set in, Will had half-carried him back in, and it was only by fair fortune that they had made it back all.

And he looked now at the stars, remembering back to some of those first star maps they had made in first-year astronomy. “Professor Kettleburn is letting me help with the bowtruckles again this year.” Will said finally, breaking the quiet as Hannibal recounted constellations he had forgotten he remembered. “He told me I should go into Care of Magical Creatures for a career.”

“Maybe you could lose a couple of limbs, too, then. What an opportunity.” Hannibal felt his lips tick into a smile as Will laughed at his sarcasm. It was both a common joke and fairly obvious observation that Professor Kettleburn had lost one whole leg, part of a foot, a whole arm, and two of his other fingers to various incidents throughout the years. Will had asked Professor McGonagall about it once, but she had gone quite pale at the question which made Hannibal think that perhaps those incidents had happened at school, perhaps even while McGonagall was a student since Kettleburn seemed nearly as old as Dumbledore and had certainly had several of the Professors in class once upon a time.   He loved Will, though, and ever since he had started in his third year, Will had been allowed to do extra things for and with the animals. He had called Will his right arm, which had made Brian and Jimmy giggle uncontrollably apparently since that was the arm currently made out of wood.

“Flitwick said I should try and be an Auror.” Will said, a bit more quietly, less assured. Hannibal frowned, wishing that Will could be glowing at the news. To be endorsed to try and be an Auror was an incredible compliment. Only the top students in most subjects could even have a hope of that. “I told him I wasn’t sure…”

“Do you want to be an Auror?” Hannibal said, not meaning to interrupt, but not wiling to let this turn into a session of self-doubt for Will, whom he knew possessed only talent and skills that lesser wizards dreamed of.

“I think I do…I…I’d like to help people. Catch dark wizards. Keep people like Voldemort from coming back to power.” He said, and Hannibal could feel Will looking at him.

“I would hope that Harry Potter wouldn’t keep you out of a job, then.” Hannibal said, and turned to him. He met Will’s eyes for a moment, seeing both amusement and the vulnerability there. Rare for Will, who possessed a strange sort of confidence in all things that he did. It left no room for others to question him. A confidence that Hannibal knew really only ever came down in moments like this, with him. Perhaps with Beverly. Maybe with Margot. “You’d be brilliant, Will.”

Hannibal smiled at him, and Will mirrored it, glancing away from his eyes for a moment, eye contact never coming easy. Instead, he sat up, pulling Hannibal with him. “Can I show you something?” He asked, “But you can’t laugh if it doesn’t work.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t laugh Will.”

“It’s reflex from talking to Bev.” Will breathed a laugh as he pulled his wand from his robes. “She’s a harsh mistress.” And Hannibal pressed his face into Will’s shoulder to hide his own laughter, worried the sound would carry too far. 

Will breathed through a closed fist, wand at the tip of his fingers. “ _Expecto Patronum.”_ Loud enough to be clear, not enough to be heard by anyone but Hannibal or whatever creatures might linger nearby. From the end of his wand came a silvery wisp, but after only a moment, a large shape, bounding and enormous, erupted from the end. It was dog, nearly a wolf, but too friendly seeming, that ran in quick circles around itself,  before bounding to where they sat. It pressed its muzzle to Will’s face, though Hannibal couldn’t be certain it could actually touch him. Then it came to him, eyes glowing and looking into his own. He could see Will reflected there, in the softness and the power. It was beautiful magic.

And then it vanished as quickly as it came in a haze of silver wisps and Hannibal found himself longing for it to return. “It was perfect.” He said, not entirely talking to Will.

“I thought it might let you be happy.” Will said, and Hannibal closed his eyes, pressing his forehead down into the soft cloth on Will’s shoulder.

 

 

“Can you breed Hippogriffs in captivity?” Margot was poring over a book for class, looking at the intricacies of Hippogriff mating rituals.

“It’s never been done, but I don’t know that means its impossible.” Will answered, voice barely cusping over a whisper. Rain pounded hard at the nearby window, drowning out most of the ambient noise and keeping the sharp eyes of Madame Pince off of them at their tableside window. “I think it depends on the diet, they need a certain amount of protein to breed properly, so I would think as long as they had it they could. But they apparently don’t usually do the mating ritual while in captivity, either.”

“I suppose that’s the point of this question,” Margot sighed. “We have to know more than we were originally supposed to.”

Will smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. Questions had stopped being straightforward descriptions of Summoning Charms and constellation motions and Switching Spells and instead had turned into ambiguous, detailed responses that more often took up a parchment rather than a simple paragraph. All in OWL preparation, Will was certain, but that didn’t make them any happier about it. He was happy that Margot was in his class, along with Jimmy, Beverley, and Brian. Brian was quite good at Care of Magical Creatures, Jimmy as well, while Beverly did it with the same ease she did everything. Margot was far better at it than she presented, and Will could nearly always count on her company for his Sunday afternoon homework. He told himself it was because she enjoyed his company (which he did believe) and not because of his high grades in the class.

Another half hour into work and Will was so absorbed in his own essay on Hippogriffs that when a quiet voice spoke, he nearly leapt from his seat. “Is this the Care of Magical Creatures study group?”

He looked up to see Alana Bloom standing there, books and bags poised on her shoulder, smiling down at them. He opened his mouth to speak, but Margot beat him to it. “This could be your study group,” She said. “We are working on Care of Magical Creatures.”

“Do you mind, then?” Alana gestured to the empty chairs across the table.

“Of course not.” Margot answered, and Will shook his head in agreement.

“Thanks,” Alana answered, sitting down with her things. “I was supposed to meet Jack and them later, but this is nicer, really. Much more quiet.”

Will smiled. He knew Alana from their various extra classes and now from being Prefects together. She was an interesting person, one he knew that was particularly good friends with Hannibal and had been since their first year, though he rarely saw them together. Highly intelligent, she was also very focused. He could easily see why Hannibal liked her so well.

“Most people are nicer than Jack Crawford.” Margot said, even as she looked out the window for a moment as the rain picked up.

“Oh, Jack’s nice.” Alana said, and Margot raised an eyebrow over at her. “He just a little…intense.”

After a moment, even Will couldn’t help but laugh. Intense was certainly one way to describe Jack, who Will thought he had only seen smile twice in his entire tenure at Hogwarts. Not even that time some student had “accidentally” turned Professor Snape’s hat into a large flower at one of the Slytherin Quidditch matches. Jack Crawford had just stared at the hat like it was some affront to society.

Will turned back to his essay, doing his best to push out the sounds around them, from the rain to the turning pages, to the occasional motions on the other end of his table, where Margot and Alana were passing things back and forth, or helping each other, or something. And instead, he wrote for what felt like a lifetime about hippogriff mating practices and wished that dinner with Beverly and Hannibal and Jimmy and Brian would come much sooner than six o’clock.


	17. Year 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! We get a little look at them separately and then together again in this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it, starring some familiar characters. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at ewanmcgregorismyhomeboy12 (Happy birthday, Ewan!)
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy. Please R and R, let me know what you think!

Hannibal listened to Katie Purnell talking to a blonde girl next to her, loud enough that he was surprised that Professor Quirrell didn’t here them from the front of the classroom. She was complaining that in spite of the fact that it was their arguably most important year of their education, they had a nervous, stuttering professor teaching them instead of someone like last year’s Defense Against the Dark Art teacher who had been accused, over the summer, of attempting to steal from Gringotts, though their schemes had gone rather poorly, according to the daily prophet. The rumors surrounding them were dark, that they had lost their mind in their brief tenure at the school. Hannibal had to wonder exactly what sort of merit they saw in that continuing education. It was odd, Hannibal had realized that though there was little turnover at Hogwarts, he had had five different Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers in as many years, many of them retiring from their positions and teaching the subject as a final favor to Dumbledore. Not that Hannibal had minded, he actually enjoyed something to divide the monotony.

The girl next to Katie laughed a bit, snickering under her breath, and Hannibal’s frowned at the blatant rudeness. Having had Professor Quirrell the past two years for Muggle Studies, he found his stutter neither distracting or detracting from his own learning, and was actually quite interested in what he had to say. And still the talking continued, until Hannibal could see that Quirrell indeed could notice as his eyes flickered to them and his voice faltered even more until he stopped talking entirely, the creature that he was holding his hands blinking and rolling its eyes around in its head.

“We haven’t even learned anything.” The girl said, flipping her hair and causing another fit of obnoxious giggles.

“You might if you ever stopped talking.” Hannibal didn’t even realize the words had come out of his mouth. They turned to him, ready to retort, but the entire class was watching and instead Katie’s face turned deep red. Hannibal was certain he heard Oliver Wood from Gryffindor, stifle a laugh next to him, even though he was fairly certain that Oliver disliked Slytherin’s on principle.

At the front, Professor Quirrell used one had to readjust his turban strap, before petting the animal he held. “As I w-w-was s-s-saying…” But fate was certainly working against him since the door to the classroom swung open as he was going to continue.

Hannibal turned to see Professor McGonagall standing there. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Professor. Might I borrow Wood for a moment?”

‘Y-yes.” He said, and pointed a shaking hand at Wood. But Hannibal looked back through the doorway, intrigued by the other shape, blocked for a moment by Wood standing to walk out to the hall. It was a skinny (even skinner than Will, which almost guaranteed malnutrition. Will didn’t eat like he was supposed to, certainly not as often as a normal person might, a fact which Hannibal constantly lamented), black-haired boy with thick round spectacles, standing nervously while holding one of the school brooms. He looked into the room, staring for a moment at the creature in Quirrell’s hands before the door shut with the trio on the other side of it.

Harry Potter, Hannibal thought, though he wasn’t sure what to think of him beyond that.

As class was dismissed, he carefully packed his things into his bag, waiting until Tobias had left so that he didn’t have to speak with him. “Lecter,” It was Katie Purnell, staring at him with her eyes in narrow focus. He stared back, setting his jaw but refusing to show anything. “Mind your own business.”

“Perhaps you should consider exercising common courtesy, then.” He picked up his bag, stringing it over his shoulder. “Have a good evening.” And she knew he didn’t mean it from the sharp intake of breath and stunted retort he heard behind his head. But neither affected his smile as he headed to Herbology where he knew Will would be.

 

“Aren’t they beautiful?” For once in Will’s observations of Hagrid’s strange menagerie of creatures that he helped tend to, Will had to agree. There were two foals walking around one of the early clearings of the forest, small whinnies escaping them from time to time as their mother rested nearby. Folded against their already strong bodies were wings, only a few shades lighter than their chestnut brown hair.

“Aethonans?” Will asked, pulling his gloves off, having anticipated something fire-breathing or covered in slime. He adored Hagrid, who was as gentle with the creatures as he was kind to the students that he interacted with, but he had a penchant for dangerous things. He was nearly certain that Hagrid was responsible for the acromantula colony in the forest, of which several bodies had turned up in Will’s many outings to care for the creatures. He was better company than Professor Kettleburn because of his pure excitement while at work, but Will was never quite certain that he was going to make it out of their adventures without losing an arm or his hair at the very least. “Are they wild?”

“Yep. Whole heard of ‘em in ‘ere.” Hagrid said proudly. “Been settin’ out food for ‘em, tryna get ‘em to come to class, ya know?”

“The foals are small for their age.” Will observed. Winged horses of all species typically gave birth in the spring, and the foals should be nearly full size by now, taller than either of them, at least. He wondered how many of them might be wondering around in the forest, limiting access to their somewhat specific diet of root vegetables. They were far less domesticated than other breeds, some of which had evolved to only drink specific things such as whisky or eat only grain-quality oats for their sustenance, but these were clearly as wild as they came. “Must be because there are two.”

“Hard on the mother, I reckon. Can’t catch a break, can she?” Hagrid laughed, causing one of them to glance suspiciously at them before it went back to chewing the soft grass. “Go on, then, see if they’ll let ya close to ‘em. I’m too big, ya see.”

Will nodded, stepping around Hagrid into the clearing. The foal closest to him, with mottled marking across the bridge of its face, turned to him, chewing slowly. He stepped carefully, avoiding sticks and rocks to make as little noise as possible as the other baby and finally the mother looked up at him, flexing her powerful wings. He kept his eyes down from hers, not wanting to seem intimidating, extending a hand.

She stood still on her legs, watching him with large brown eyes before taking a hesitant step. Then another. And another. And another, until finally, she pressed her head against his hand. He ran it along her hand, against her long mane, smiling broadly as he reached her wings that were soft against his fingertips.

How long he stayed there exactly, he wasn’t sure. The babies came to him, interested in this new potential friend or toy until he wasn’t so new anymore and the grass and their only partially-full bellies were too strong a pull for them. He walked back to Hagrid who had tears that could fill water glasses in his eyes.

“Just beautiful.” Hagrid said, wiping at his face. “I think they might come to class now, whaddya think?”

“I think it’s a good chance,” Will agreed, imagining the look on everyone’s face if a group of winged horses walked up to their class, nuzzling at fingers and eating the leaves near their feet.

“You ever thought about working with ‘em once ya leave here, Will?” Hagrid asked as they began to turn back and leave, the horses watching curiously. “Your good with ‘em, ya know. Creatures, I mean. Lot better ‘an most.”

And Will wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he just smiled, his mind racing forward to Quidditch practice that was starting in an hour.

 

“We have to stop doing this,” Hannibal harsh-whispered into Will’s ear as they were practically running down the fifth-floor corridor. “We’re going to get caught. Get detention.”

“There has to be somewhere to hide up here.” Will insisted, fingers grippe tight on Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal could here the swift approach of Filch behind them, the cawing of Mrs. Norris as they paced through the corridor, barely ahead of their approach. He knew he only had himself to blame for this, he was the first to suggest that they meet up on the fifth floor after Will had finished his Quidditch practice and shower. To practice some of their spells in an empty classroom, certainly, as their extra transfiguration lessons had them working on doubling charms which were a particularly complicated bit of magic. Will had mastered them fairly quickly, but his attempts to help Hannibal, adjusting his fingers, standing close to him, had dissolved into other activities on an available couch until so much time had passed that they were now both miscreants, and even more prudent, only moments from being caught by the looming presence of the Hogwarts caretaker.

“What about that room?” Hannibal said, pointing ahead at a rather plain looking wooden door that didn’t quite match the rest of the doors in the hall.

“Not sure what it is.” Will said, but a shrill meow from the corner behind them made the decision for them and Will pulled them both through the door, shutting it near-silently behind them. He leaned back on it, breathing heavily with his free hand clamped over his mouth.

“They must be here somewhere, my sweet.” He heard Filch’s heavy rasp on the other side of the door. “We should have heard them go in, shouldn’t we?” The cat meowed in agreement and Hannibal waited, blood pulsing around his ears, on Filch to open the door and send them tumbling out into the hallway and the consequences that awaited them.

“We’ll have to wait on them. They’ll have to come out eventually.” Hannibal relaxed his shoulders, feeling the immediate crisis passing. Then Will’s fingers released his own, and he was pulled into the reality of the fact that whatever room they dove into was now there home for the next bit at least, until they could be certain that Filch had either left or gone to sleep.

“Will,” He said, hardly daring to talk.

“What is this place?” Will said, and Hannibal really looked for the first time at their new surroundings. The room was large, but not a classroom, though it must have been nearly the size of one. It was almost like a common room, with soft furniture in neutral colors, dim lighting, a painting by what he recognized as being by his favorite artist: Modigliani, a man whom his uncle had once said was so talented it was a wonder he wasn’t a wizard. “Have you been in here before?”

Hannibal shook his head, trying to take in the details. There was a bookshelf, containing all of their textbooks. There was a door that seemed to go to a lavatory, a clothing rack currently empty, a stack of fresh parchment, inks, and quills. A pot with hot water and a set of tea bags next to it. Soft chairs, a couch, a fireplace and stack of logs where they could certainly build a fire if they chose. On the coffee table, there was a lamp, and folded on the table were two sets of pajamas, one a set of green pajamas, one a set of blue. He picked up the green set, looking as if they were perfectly cut for him.

“This is amazing.” Will said, looking at the bookshelf. “I don’t think Filch can find this room.” He said, and looked at Hannibal, a grin plastered on his face. “I love Hogwarts.”

“I hope you love the room, too. I think we’re stuck here for a while.” Hannibal said.

“It’s already midnight.” Will said, “We need to go to bed.” His voice trailed off and Hannibal saw that he was blushing heavily. “There is a bed…” He added, “If you wanted to…we could share it.”

“It came with pajamas as well.” Hannibal said, trying not to let his own embarrassment show in his voice. “I think the blue are for you.”

“It is my best color.” Will said. “I’ll…I’ll go change in the loo if you…if you want to out here.” He said, stammering in a way he hadn’t since their second year when Hannibal had held his hand in the hallway for the first time. Hannibal felt his heart hammer in his chest a bit, smiling in a way that only Will could really make him do.

“Excellent.” He said, and started undoing his tie and robe.

He wondered why he was so nervous. He and Will had certainly kissed, started doing just a bit more than that, actually. There was no one else he could ever even imagine sharing a bed with, even if the circumstances were a bit more than strange. So, he thought that perhaps the fluttering in his stomach wasn’t him being uncomfortable. Perhaps it was simply anticipation.

He was buttoning the last button when Will emerged in his own pajamas, hanging his school robes on the empty hangars before he went over to the bed. “Do you have a side?” He asked, and Hannibal could hear the false confidence.

“No.” He said, hanging up his own clothes. “You can take whichever you like.” He felt that nervousness again, pushing it away. Will had stayed at his house before on his daybed. He had stayed in Will’s guest bedroom on a couple of occasions. This was simply one step closer. Nothing to worry about.

“If I start talking, just roll me over.” Will said sheepishly as Hannibal climbed in next to him. Hannibal grinned, letting himself laugh a bit. “Let’s hope the old codger is gone in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Will.” Hannibal said, and resisted the temptation to reach his hand down to Will’s where it was resting between them on this very large bed indeed. “Hopefully we can make out escape in time for Charms.”

And when morning came and Hannibal woke up to light streaming in from a window he hadn’t seen or that hadn’t been there the night before that had gotten them up with just enough time to go and get dressed in fresh clothes before class, he almost wanted to take the words back. He almost hoped that they wouldn’t have to leave, with Will wrapped around him, still sleeping. It was a moment of stillness, when he felt the best he had in such a long time that he wanted to close his eyes and stay there forever.


	18. Year 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks, its been the week from Hell. I've been both busy and sick as Hell, and today's been the first day I've been able to stop coughing long enough to cook something for myself. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience! I hope you all enjoy, as always! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

“Your grades are consistently impressive and I would think that you would have no problem getting recommendations for any Ministry position, Mr. Lecter.” Professor Snape sat behind his desk, looking at Hannibal’s record, scrawled on parchment. “Your coursework is impressive and you posses the necessary skills for a variety of careers.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hannibal blinked. Though in truth he had little doubt about his personal abilities, Professor Snape was rarely so open with praise. Particularly this year, when Snape had seemed to be in a right foul mood since the very first day and hadn’t even complimented his and Tobias’ near-perfect Strengthening Draught, despite the fact that nearly everyone else’s had turned into some sort of sludge. Alana had managed something passable, and Hannibal could tell she expected him to say something positive, but he had had passed by both of them with the same look of displeasure that he usually had. According to the chatter of the first years who he hoped stopped working so often in the Common Room, it was because of Harry Potter. He supposed he wasn’t surprised, if the rumors were true, then Snape had been a Death Eater. It could be hard for old grudges to die, Hannibal supposed, and he didn’t particularly feel as though he had the right to judge the man in front of him, who was clearly talented at Potions and willing to help Hannibal.

“Do you have a trajectory for yourself, Mr. Lecter?” He said, and leaned back slightly. Beverly had said that Snape resembled a bat, or perhaps a Dementor with his broad black cloaks, and the more Hannibal thought about it, the more correct Beverly seemed. She had an unfortunate habit of that.

“I’m not sure. I don’t really find myself drawn to a governmental career, Professor.”

Snape didn’t react as Hannibal expected him to. He said nothing, actually, his black eyes looking Hannibal over as if sizing him up with a small frown. “You could climb ladders.” He finally said, almost begrudgingly. Hannibal wondered if they had to recommend Ministry careers, or if they were just limited in there imagination. He could hardly imagine Dumbledore requiring it, maybe they were all just concerned that they would join the still-wandering fanatics of Voldemort or become common criminals otherwise.

“I have no taste for bureaucracy, Professor.” And, perhaps for the first time, Snape’s face twitched into a ghost of a smile before straightening out again.

“Did you have thoughts, then?”

“I was thinking perhaps of becoming a Healer.”

“At St. Mungo’s?”

“No, my own practice, actually.”

Snape leaned back again for a moment before withdrawing another piece of parchment, waiving his wand over it as a plethora of words appeared. “These are the grades on your O.W.L.’s that you will need to continue. A note of warning, I don’t take N.E.W.T. students without an Outstanding on your O.W.L., which is certainly manageable for you, but not guaranteed for anyone.”

“I understand, Sir.” Hannibal took the paper, looking over the charts and graphs and trying to determine what he needed. High marks in Defesne Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration. At least decent grades in Muggle Studies and Arithmancy. He nodded, looking at the list. “Thank you, Sir.”

“We can talk again soon, Mr. Lecter.” Snape said, his eyes moving past Hannibal to the doorway. “It seems as though someone else is here for you now, however.”

Hannibal turned to see Will shuffle back from the doorway, realizing he could be seen, the splash of blue on the hem of his robes catching on the old door lock for a moment as he moved out of sight. Hannibal couldn’t help but smile at him a bit.

“Thank you, Sir.” And he went out to the hall, peeking around at Will.

“I thought you might want to go to lunch.” Will said sheepishly, trying to smile, clearly unsure if Hannibal was embarrassed by his antics.

“Always.” Hannibal said, and shut Professor Snape’s door behind them.

 

 

“Flitwick tried to convince me I needed to OWL in astronomy.” Beverly said, stabbing her salad with what Will would consider unnecessary force. He looked across the table at Hannibal, who stared at the unsuspecting lettuce with slight alarm, eating his own salad in careful bites. Five years of eating lunch together, and their seating arrangement hadn’t changed. Will and Beverly and Brian on one side, Hannibal and Jimmy on the other with a fresh side of staring first years at their mixed-house seating arrangement.

“What career did you tell him your wanted to do?”

“Department of Magical Law Enforcement!” Beverly exclaimed, looking up now, sighing at her lunch. “I was really planning on blowing astronomy off for Care of Magical Creatures this year.”

“Didn’t you do that last year, Bev?” Jimmy asked, nearly earning a fork thrown at his face.

“What exactly do you need to know about astronomy to catch criminals?” Brian asked, Will knew that he, too, had to pass Astronomy with at least passing marks to be an Auror. He didn’t have to take the NEWT level for Astronomy, but an Exceeds Expectations was required and he foresaw many late nights spent in the Astronomy Tower. Perhaps now they wouldn’t be so lonely.

“I guess how the alignment of Venus can tell us whether or not Voldemort’s returned.” She rolled her eyes, “It’s absurd. At least it’s better than having to OWL in Divination.”

“I’ll have you know, Beverly,” Jimmy said, cocking his head. “Divination is an important and valued magical subject with many practical uses, and Sybil Trelawney is one of the most talented Seer’s who has ever lived.” There was a beat of pure silence before all of them, Hannibal included, started laughing out loud.

Will couldn’t feel bad, not since he had spent his first Christmas at the castle and she had come down for dinner and predicted the imminent death of not only him, but a couple of other people present over the pudding. It had taken some consoling by McGonagall before one boy would go back to bed, and only about two minutes for Will to decide that he would not be taking Divination after his third year.

“Is there any teacher who's arse you haven’t kissed, Jimmy?”

“Just Kettleburn, but honestly, I’m not such he has one left.”

 

Will let the wind whip over his face, flying up and flipping over on his Comet 260, flying upside down until it felt like his stomach might drop to the ground. “Are you going to stay down there all evening?” He yelled, not opened his eyes, at Hannibal who was standing with his Nimbus down below.

“I’m just watching,” Came the response from below him, before the familiar woosh of Hannibal joining him in the sky came through. “I’ve missed this.”

“You’ve been up here for two seconds.” Will laughed, sitting up on his broom as Hannibal flew next to him. “You’re getting sentimental, Old Man.”

“I’m only four months older than you, William.” Hannibal said, forcing his mouth into a flat-line frown until Will rolled his eyes in a very Beverly-like gesture. He leaned forward on his broom, shooting forward across the pitch and was almost worried until he heard Hannibal start to follow him, flying low to catch up.

His broom was faster than Will’s, but Will was smaller and didn’t have the same, draft-catching long limbs that Hannibal did so it took longer than he wanted, finally matching as Will moved to the set of three hoops. “I’m excited to watch you play on Saturday,” Will said, stopping above the tallest hoop, hovering there. “Are you excited?”

“I’m always excited to play against Gryffindor.” Hannibal said, “Though I’m rather tired of Flint.”

“I’m surprised he can fly, honestly, he might be the dumbest person I’ve seen on the Pitch.” Will agreed, and Hannibal cocked his head, which Will knew meant he agreed but was too polite to say it.

“Remind me not to upset you, Will.”

“You haven’t done it yet,” Will laughed. “Come one, let’s do another lap then head back. It’s getting late.”

They flew in an easy circle, sometimes zigzagging, sometimes spiraling up and around the house banners. Hannibal flew level with him, matching every dip and spin. He wondered, after they left Hogwarts, if they still might do this. If there would be evenings spent on brooms, maybe flying over waters in Britain, or the green fields out in the country. Or, knowing what Hannibal would probably want, spent zooming over the lights of a city like London or Glasgow, watching the Muggles move slowly below them. It was a nice thought, one that Will wondered if Hannibal shared sometimes, but was far too afraid to ask.

He stepped off his broom, readjusting his shirt before they started to head back to the castle, reaching out to take Hannibal’s hand in his own. “We didn’t talk about the other night.”

“Our stay on the fifth floor, you mean?”

“Yeah.” Will said, and swung their hands between them, smiling at the confused look on Hannibal’s face. “I still don’t know what that place was.”

“I’ve been trying to figure it out.” Hannibal admitted, “But I haven’t had much free time.”

“I’ll ask Helena.”

“She came out for the Sorting this year. It’s the first time I’ve seen her not in the basement.”

“She told me she was going to try before we left last year. I’m glad she made it.” Will thought of his quiet friend, who was so mournful that it was hard for him to visit her sometimes. But it had become more and more important to him as time went on, both to him and to her, he could tell. And she had finally started hinting at what had upset her so much to begin with, though she always stopped and resorted to her old habit of disappearing right through him before she would talk about anything like that. He shook his head, wondering what she could possibly be worried about.

“I enjoyed it.”

“The sorting?” Will said, blinking away his other thoughts. Hannibal stopped, stopping Will along with him, outside of the courtyard entrance, facing him,

“No.” he said, “The other night.” He let his Nimbus lean up against the wall and Will smiled a bit as he cupped Will’s face in his hands and leaned forward, kissing him so perfectly that Will thought it might be okay if they stayed out here for a bit longer.


	19. Year Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Happy to be updating more regularly again! I hope you all are enjoying these chapters, Im trying to mix in some HP events without detracting from the two of them. For those Dark Hogwarts people, I promise (and you can probably tell by this chapter) we'll be there soon, but these fellas deserve some fluff, folks. They really do,
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think! I'm hoping to do a lot of comment responding in the next couple of days! 
> 
> IF YOU ARE AN ARTIST, I'm looking for someone to do a Hannibal commission. Find me on tumblr at this same name and we can talk logistics and prices. Feel free to spread the word!

He let the letter flutter back down to the breakfast table, closing his eyes against the words written there. “Lecter?” Flint was breathing down his neck, breathing so loudly through his always-open mouth that Hannibal felt the momentary urge to turn around and strangle him. “Look up, Lecter, we’re leaving!” He said and hit Hannibal hard enough on the shoulder that pain radiated through his arm. “Come on!”

“I’ll follow in a moment.” Hannibal could hear the threatening tone in his own voice, not that he cared enough to not threaten Marcus Flint. But it did get the idiot away from him for a moment so he could breathe, him and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team whom he had been forced to eat breakfast with. Brian, in his usual vein of commentary, had said their matching green robes made them look like a row of hedges on Saturday mornings, which Hannibal had been grateful that Will had not laughed at in that moment. At this moment, however, he almost wished he were on a team with hedges rather than the actual members who were stomping around like a pack of trolls.

He picked up his beater bat, knowing he did actually have to follow them, stuffing his uncle’s letter back in his pocket. This was supposed to be Mischa’s day at Hogwarts, everything was arranged for she and his uncle to be able to attend the game and for him to spend the evening with them in the village below the castle. But no more. She had taken a serious turn two nights before, and his uncle, for fear of moving her, had cancelled the trip. Dumbledore already knew. He had requested that Hannibal not be told by anyone except him. His Aunt was still traveling, meeting with family members as they were sporadically available, and would not return until nearly Christmas, perhaps after depending on how things went. Her letters contained suggested treatments, but with no cause as to her sickness in the first place, it was impossible to guess which might work and which might make her better.

He took his broom from the ground, catching the motion of Will standing, his expression questioning, intending to follow him. But he pretended he didn’t see him at all and stepped faster, catching up with their Keeper and Seeker, trailing behind Flint and the other Chasers at the front of the team, not really wanting to talk.

 

“You were fantastic.” Will said, running a hand through Hannibal’s hair as they sat propped on the windowsill, looking out at the darkened castle.

“I can’t believe he took Mary’s bat.” Hannibal said, closing his eyes for a moment, pressing against the softness of Will’s long sweater against his face. His long body stretched all the way down the sill, one leg propped up into a triangle at the knee, hands folded over his chest. “Gryffindor probably deserved to win.”

“Can’t let them know that.” Will protested quietly, earning a small laugh from Hannibal, “I still can’t believe that Harry Potter almost swallowed the Snitch.”

“You know Snitches have flesh memories?” Will asked, and Hannibal looked up at him, turning his head as best he could. “That’s why makers and players use gloves. I guess his stomach lining would imprint on it, too.” They laughed easy, Will leaning back against the cool stone.

“There are times I wish you could come back to the Common Room with me.” Hannibal said suddenly his mind seemingly very out of sort at the moment, “It’s a very unfriendly place sometimes. Like now, when everyone thinks I should have used my bat to bludgeon an eleven year old to death.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for not doing that.” Will said, and watched Hannibal bask in that for a moment, pushing his blonde hairs back off of his face. “What’s wrong, Hannibal? I know you avoided me at breakfast.”

“I didn’t avoid you,” Hannibal said, but Will could here the lie.

“You can tell me if you want.” Will said softly, “You don’t have to, of course.”

“You sound more and more British everyday, Will.” Hannibal said, and reached up a hand to Will’s face, his long fingers curving around his jaw. “Don’t lose your accent, though, please.”

“You like my accent?” Will said, and looked down, eyebrows raised? It had been the single point of the various personal bullying Will had dealt with. Every year, some snotty first-year saw fit to mock it whenever they heard him, sometimes mistaking Will for someone younger because of his still small statue (less so this year) or their own inflated sense of self-importance. This year it had been some idiot named Draco, who had been doing his best (and a poor job at that) to copy Will’s accent to two of his thick-headed friends in the hall. He had briefly considered drawing out his wand and hexing them with an itching jinx, but Hannibal’s arrival had done the trick. One look at him, their house Prefect, who had taken Will’s hand in his own, either not noticing the behavior or choosing to make a point instead, had caused him to stop. Will’s hard stare over the frame of his glasses had made Draco try his best to look intimidating, hard to do when he kept glancing at Hannibal’s face for signs of anger and then Will’s wand when he causally pulled it from his robes.

“I like most things about you, Will.”

“Only most?” Will pretended to be affronted, stopping his fingers along the side of Hannibal’s face, “And don’t think that flattery will distract me, Hannibal. I’m not Tobias.”

“Certainly not.” Hannibal said, venom clear in his voice, followed by a quiet sigh. Will waited patiently, knowing Hannibal would eventually talk to him. He took his wand out in the meantime, spinning it in the air, creating glittering golden swirls from seemingly nothing that floated in spirals until he stopped the motions and it vanished as quickly. It was one of the spells from the books of additional spells they could learn for their advanced Charms class, and so far, it was his favorite. It was beautiful magic for the sake of being beautiful magic, and as Professor McGonagall had said, the aesthetic of something was enough a reason to do it, so long as now one was hurt. “You’re exceptionally gifted.” Hannibal was almost whispering, hands clasped together again, looking up at Will’s gentle spell spirals.

“Thank you.” Will said, knowing he was blushing. While most flattery did nothing to him, there were times when Hannibal’s soft words were so overwhelming he felt that he couldn’t help it. When the affection in them was so clear he could nearly feel it tightening in his chest. “I’m glad you like them.” He spun it again, changing the incantation slightly and making the gold intertwined with green. Then with blue.

“When we leave this place, Will..” Hannibal said as if the thought had come to him so urgently that he had to speak it. His face was contorted into a strange look, eyes looking away from Will deliberately.

“Yes?”

“When we leave this place…” Hannibal turned his face back to the window, distant stars glittering in the slightly reflective glass. “Will you stay with me?”

“I…” Will’s heart hammered in his chest, his blood cold. It was what he pictured, he wanted to say. What he thought about in that time between sleeping and waking. A life beyond this place. A life for them. Of desire and domesticity and all the things that made him blush when he thought of Hannibal now. “Yes, of course.”

“Will you marry me, then? When we’re older?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation from Will, surprising perhaps himself most of all. Hannibal didn’t respond for a long moment, and Will was uncertain what he possibly could have done wrong.

“My Uncle wrote to me about my sister…”

 

He clutched the note from Professor McGonagall, looking at the hard, nearly untouched spines of the books in the restricted section. “Moste Potente Magikal Maladies” was right where she said it might be, the cover deep crimson and standing out with its gilded lettering. He had explained to her the basics of his concerns for his sister, underlying his own concerns and framing it as an academic need. He hadn’t needed to do all of that really, since she readily agreed to grant him access, and now he was planning on doing some investigating of his own. He hadn’t slept well since Saturday, despite being exhausted from Saturday’s match and his following conversation with Will, too many questions lingering in his mind.

He walked back out to the main part of the library, knowing Will wouldn’t be there, but seeing Beverly working alone at a rather large table. He headed towards her, knowing she would certainly allow him to sit with her. And if not her, then perhaps Margot and Alana, sitting with their heads close together on two of the soft-backed chairs by the window, would allow him to share the small table in front of them.

“May I sit here?” He whispered to Beverly, practically feeling Madame Pince’s eyes on the back of his head. Beverly startled up as if she hadn’t noticed his approach at all, deep in a Care of Magical Creatures Essay, and nodded with a slight smile. He set his bag on the ground, setting the book out on the table so he could thumb through the large pages.

Boils, lesions, what seemed to be magical leprosy, missing limbs, dissolving limbs, removed eyes, all were in the first few pages. He was expecting, after McGonagall’s brief warning of such, that his stomach might turn, but instead he found himself intrigued. What would it be like to be able to cure things like this? To wield such control over the complex magic and potions involved, the cures listed as long as the disease descriptions.

He read into the late hours of evening, the only thing stopping him was Beverly tapping him on the hand to invite him to dinner with a nod of her head. Almost reluctantly, he nodded, closing the book and packing it into his bag.

No matter the amount he had learned, he still hadn’t succeeded. If whatever plagued Mischa was in that book, he was yet to find it, and his mind burned with the urge to keep looking. Keep reading, keep searching until he found it. And to ignore the small part of him intrigued by what he had seen until there wasn’t so much at stake.


	20. Year 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Thanks to those still reading (and those who just started!) Your kudos and comments are very much appreciated, its great to know that people are enjoying this story! 
> 
> As always, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Please R and r, let me know what you think! 
> 
> Also, if you are an artist or if you know one, let me know! I'm looking to commission people for a Hannibal piece. And I pay money, so there's that? Fine me on tumblr at this name!
> 
> Thanks!

“Troll!” Will lifted his head from where he had been picking the candy corn out of his pudding, meeting Margot’s eyes for all of a second before he whipped around with the rest of the Ravenclaw table to see Professor Quirrell running into the room at full speed, turban lopsided on his head, one part of his cloak unraveling. “Troll in the dungeon!”

The entire room, that had been filled with noise as the annual Halloween feast had commenced, was completely silenced. He stopped in front of the staff table where Dumbledore was on his feet, “Just thought you ought to know.” And then he collapsed to the floor in a distressed heap. The beat that followed was as intense as the screams of fear that immediately followed. He gestured to Margot and the pair of them joined the older prefects trying to round up the panicking first years who were spilling around like fish in a mill pond.

“Prefects will escort all students to the house dormitories immediately!” the call came from McGonagall, and Will fell in step behind a heard of nervous second-years, happy to have Margot there. Even though he knew that maintaining order was the point of Prefects, he hadn’t expected to ever actually have to guard someone from imminent danger. He pulled his wand from his cloak, just in case, though dealing with a troll would certainly be a test he was yet to have. He was informed enough, having learned a great deal about them in Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he was far from the point of wanting to meet one in the halls while trying to heard twelve-year-olds to a tower.

He glanced across the room to see Hannibal trying to pry Frederick Chilton away from him so he could console a dark haired girl who was crying and refused to get out of her seat. But he couldn’t worry about that now, he had to get this lot back to Ravenclaw tower, since it seemed many of them were on the verge of crying themselves.

“Who would let a troll loose in the castle?” A dark-haired girl turned around, continuing to walk forward at Will’s frustrated face. “Someone had to let it in.”

It was very Ravenclaw of her, Will thought, to have taken the time to figure that out instead of thinking about getting away from the troll. If someone thought a loose troll had wondered into the castle with the amount of security present, they were sadly mistaken. He only hoped it wasn’t Hagrid, the thought met with a sigh.

“Must have been someone with a penchant for trolls.” The thought gave Will slight pause, he thought he might know someone who was good with trolls, but his mind was racing. “Watch out for the missing stair!” He yelled, right as a boy would have gone tumbling into the trick step. The boy, already panicking, clung to Will the rest of the climb up the stairs, wrinkling his sleeve so heavily that Will knew he’d probably have to change.

“Doesn’t seem like a very useful skill.” The girl said, lips pursed. The 7th year Prefect reached the door first, working on the riddle.

“Unless you’re trying to let a troll loose in a castle full of children.” Will said absentmindedly, and the girl laughed out loud, shuffling in behind her classmates. Will looked down at her again, his eyes narrowing. “Who are you, again?”

“Abigail Hobbs,” She said, “You’re Will Graham, aren’t you?”

 

 

“Have you ever looked at our wands?” Hannibal asked him, lowering his wand from where he was attempting a Patronus yet again while Will worked on the longevity of his dog that ran in luminescent circles. “Together, I mean.”

“No.” Will said, and the dog disappeared, leaving the empty classroom in darkness for a moment. “Lumos Maxima!” He said, and a ball of light rose between them, lighting the room as much as if the lamps themselves had been ignited. He walked over to Hannibal, wand held in his fingers.

They were nearly the same length, made of the same dark wood. “What’s in the core?”

“Dragon Heartstring.”

“Same as mine.” Hannibal said, “But what about these markings?”

Hannibal had taken some time to consider his own wand well before now. He found wandlore, like he found many subjects, to be of particular fascination. All wands were unique, as were the wizards the used them, but his own had some sort of symbols seemingly scratched into them. He had been compelled to think, at one point, that perhaps his wand was used. But his Uncle argued that rarely could wands be exchanged between wizards with measurable effectiveness, and since he was yet to find anything to match the symbols regardless, he had stopped worrying about it. He reached out a hand and took Will’s wand, a bit shorter and lighter than his own, but otherwise virtually identical. And there, scrawled on the base were similar symbols, circles with crossing tangential lines through, touching on the outer rim. Will’s had what resembled a small star in the circle which Hannibal’s did not.

“I don’t know.” He said finally, and handed Will back his own, strangely wishing for a moment that it was still his hand. “I wish I knew more about wands in general.”

“Ollivander’s made thousands of wands.” Will said, his voice distant where Hannibal could tell he was thinking. Looking up at him, he was staring at nothing through his glasses before he shook his head and came back to where they were. Hannibal felt his lips twitch into a smile, it was rare that anyone took the time to truly consider things, Will was a rare exception. He thought beautifully, will full passion and the mind of someone who was not only much more experienced in the world, but someone with impeccable talents. “He’s bound to have made some that are similar.”

“True.” Hannibal agreed, and then looked down at his wand again, wishing he could produce a Patronus. He wasn’t quite sure why he couldn’t. He could do enough of a charm that he would be protected, at least for a time, against dementors. But he wanted a full Patronus, one like Will’s brilliant dog that so lit up their nights of work. He wanted to see the animal that was encased in his own happiness. He thought of happy things, of flying and Will and Mischa and Quidditch and everything that made him feel truly happy. But it wasn’t enough. He had never managed more than a faint outline.

“You’re frustrated.” Will said, nearly instantly as soon as Hannibal started thinking about it. “I can tell.”

“I only wish I could do this.” Hannibal said, hating the words as they came out of his mouth.

“You can.” Will said. “Or you will. Perhaps you just need some inspiration.”

“Perhaps I need happier memories.” Hannibal said and sat down on the couch, feeling like he knew why he couldn’t do this. Not with everything still hanging over him like a shroud. His parents. His sister. His home. Everything. “I’m looking forward to looking back on them.”

 

 

“You realize, Mr. Graham, that potion-making is an essential skill for Aurors?” Professor Snape was standing nearly two feet away from his and Beverly’s cauldron. Not that he could really blame him at the moment, Will wouldn’t be anywhere near it if it was avoidable, but it was currently his frantic stirring keeping it in the pot while Beverly was fishing through the textbook for a topical solution.

“At least we won’t be brewing anything for our OWLs,” Beverly said as she found the page, grabbed a handful of something off of Brian and Jimmy’s table behind them and threw it into the pot, calming the swelling sludge immediately. “Or we’d never make it, eh?” Will did not think that Professor Snape found that comment (or elbowing of Will) too amusing, much like how he seemed to feel about most of Beverly’s antics, but the rest of the class suppressed a laugh.

“I’m glad you find your future to be worth laughing over, Ms. Katz.” If that had been Will on the other end of that hard stare, he wouldn’t have said anything, but kept his mouth shut as Snape clearly intended.

“I think it’s healthy to be able to laugh about things, Professor. Thank you for understanding.”

“Merlin’s beard, Bev….” Brian said behind them.

“If you are so confident,” Snape was angry now, sneering at her with both anger and preemptive triumph, “Then I’m sure you can figure out a way to get the potion out of your cauldron. Or the pair of you can spend the rest of the evening cleaning them.”

Will looked at Beverly, who he could tell was slightly panicking. They certainly didn’t have time to be cleaning cauldrons all night, and it was obvious to Will that Beverly didn’t know. He tried to think, and remembered that only the week before he and Hannibal had done some early, theoretical work on Vanishing spells which would probably be on there OWL. He took out his wand to say a spell, but Snape stopped him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Graham, but I asked Ms. Katz to do it.” Will swallowed, wishing Beverly could read his mind. Beverly looked at him, taking out her own wand. He mouthed to her, as carefully as he could “Make something up.” And steadied his own wand, hoping this would work or they would be stuck in the potions room for far longer than he ever wanted to be.

Beverly cleared her throat dramatically, holding her wand over the bubbling mess,

_“Hippogriff, Werewolf, rhythm in motion,_

_Please, dear Merlin get rid of this potion.”_

Her dramatic wand waving and ridiculous poem thoroughly held evweyones attention, most of whom were now stifling a laugh at her further antics, while Will did the correct motions, saying the Vanishing Spell clearly in his head. Snape stepped over, clearly expecting the cauldron to still be full of muck, but to everyone's shock (including both Beverly and Will’s), the tub was empty. Snape’s head shot up so quickly, Will worried he might be whiplash, and he was so angry he was nearly spitting.

Beverly smiled smugly at him, and Will tried to Will her to say nothing. “Thank you, Professor, I’ve been looking for a chance to try that one out.” Beverly put her wand away and turned to Will, ignoring Snape who continued to stand over them. “I’m going to go get our ingredients out again. We put in the powdered horn root too early last time.” She said, and Will was left to heat the cauldron while Professor Snape stood over them, and Will could have sworn he was trying to read his mind. So, just to be safe, he though of powdered roots and potion theory, anything that wasn’t the Vanishing Spell he had just managed. And eventually, on Beverly’s return, he moved on to terrorize a couple of Hufflepuffs who were having even worse luck with a cauldron beginning to spit fire.


	21. Year 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks, I apologize for the feelings that this one may evoke. 
> 
> As always, though, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think :)
> 
> Find me on tumblr at this same name! Send me some prompts, ideas, what have you, i'm in a writing mood.

Will spared a glance at the stands, ignoring the bludger that whizzed past him and the swirl of yellow and blue robes that passed between his vision and the crowd that surged behind them. His eyes sought Hannibal, who was standing in the same blue Transfigured Scarf and gloves that Will had given him their first year, the ends frayed and worn, next to Beverly who was yelling with her arms up. Hannibal was looking off into the distance, as Will watched, he righted himself to look at Will, smiling even though there was no way he knew Will could see him. Will let out a breath, looking around to the Hufflepuff Seeker, a boy named Cedric, who was looking around for the Snitch.

The game whizzed by Will, but he was distracted, and he knew it. Hannibal was receiving regular letters now on Saturdays, and they were hampering him. The last few matches, when he hadn’t been thinking clearly, he’d nearly been knocked from his broom. One night, when they were alone for longer than they should have been to keep from being distracted, Will’s had seen the bruise on his stomach from being hit by a bludger. He had been blushing, touching the skin there until he had noticed that Hannibal was trying not to wince, and had quickly redrawn his hands, letting go of the wad of Hannibal’s shirt that he had tangled his fingers in.

“Graham!” One of his teammates, Roger, yelled at him, and he leaned forward, flying into formation and catching the Quaffle right as it zoomed near his head, throwing it with perfect accuracy through the center hoop. The crowd erupted into cheers, and he flew back to the middle of the field as the Hufflepuffs sprang into action. Rejuvenated, feeling his head clear, he intercepted a pass and flew straight back to the hoops, scoring again in a matter of seconds. The stands were nearly on fire, roaring with triumph as the Hufflepuff side booed at their keepers consistently bad performance.

He ducked as a Bludger whizzed past him, spinning on his broom to allow it to pass harmlessly as the Hufflepuff Chasers began their attempt for a third time. He leaned forward, flying straight towards the center Chaser who stared at him, wide-eyed to the point he almost felt bad. Then they shifted, broom shifting and he took the Quaffle from their loose fingers (a rather amateur mistake to hold it that way, he thought) and scored for a third time right as the Ravenclaw Seeker closed his fingers around the Snitch and the crowds went up again in a roar.

He glanced over at Hannibal, the late November wind threatening to blow him off his broom, and saw him clapping alongside Beverly, his smile seeming slightly forced. He looked over at the rest of his team flying down as the back stands started to clear and storm the fields, but he took the chance to fly over to the stands where Hannibal and Beverly were. Overshadowed by the roar of the crowd in the stands, he gestured for Hannibal to come over to him, and, still hovering in mid-air, grabbed hold of the wrapped scarf and pulled him into a kiss to the hooting of Beverly and the slightly embarrassed, but happy reaction of Margot Verger and Alana Bloom, who were sitting behind them on the stands, gloved hands held together between them before Will flew down again, waiting on Hannibal to climb down the stairs so he might kiss him again.

 

 

“What are you getting Will for Christmas, Hannibal?” He could still hardly believe that Mischa was sitting across from him, gauntly drawn face peaked in a smile as she chewed carefully on the fish and chips she was eating, sitting across from him in the bustle of the Three Broomsticks. Finally, with their last weekend at Hogsmeade before the Christmas holidays in a month, his uncle had considered Mischa well enough to make the trip to see him. He worried about her, part of him wanting to reach over and balance her, wrap a hand around her small wrists so that she might sit up straight and not have to lean on the table for support. But he couldn’t’ do that, not to her, and so he smiled.

“I’m not sure,” He said, “What do you think I should get him?”

“A dog.” She said, with no thought given to the matter. She pursed her lips, drawing up an old memory of their mother than Hannibal thought he had forgotten. He had the urge to pull the parchment he kept in his pocket, make lines to start a drawing of her in this moment, but he resisted. There would be moments for that later. “Or an engagement ring.”

“What’s that?” Hannibal’s Uncle returned to the table at that moment, holding two Butterbeers and what seemed to be juice for Mischa in his hand, sitting down to his own plate.

“Hannibal doesn’t know what to get Will for Christmas, Uncle Robertas.” Mischa explained. “I said a dog.”

“That’s not what it sounded like.” Hannibal’s Uncle played like he hadn’t known what Mischa had suggested, and from the blush that Hannibal could feel creeping up his face, he thought it might be obvious, but since they were only fifteen, he didn’t think his uncle found it a real possibility.

“What do you think he should get him?” Mischa asked, right as their Uncle took a bite of his own fish, causing a joint laugh around the table. “What do you get Aunt Murasaki?”

“Different things every year.” He finally answered. “Does he like tea?”

“I was thinking maybe some new Quidditch gloves.” Hannibal offered, knowing that Will, in fact, did not like tea. He did, however, like Butterbeer and since this place was selling bottles of it, he might have to get him some of that. “Or a book on Hippogriffs, Newt Scamander’s son just released one.”

“I saw that in the Prophet.”

“Is Will going to work with creatures?” Mischa asked, mushing her peas into a paste and mixing them with bits of lemon in a concoction that Hannibal could sadly admit he had eaten many times, it must be a family trait.

“I think he wants to be an Auror, actually.”

“Wow.”

“Are his grades up to par for that?” Hannibal’s uncle had his eyebrows raised, not in surprise or doubt, just in curiosity. Hannibal appreciated his uncle’s frankness, but now the implication that came with Will was met with deference that he was making assumptions based on Will’s blood status. He had never known his uncle to discriminate, but many times those things were hidden behind other words.

“One of the top in our class. As long as he passes all the OWLs he needs, he’ll be more than fine.”

“Are you and him still going steady, then?” Mischa giggled at the somewhat archaic language. Hannibal nodded, trying to gauge his uncle’s reaction. “You should have brought him to lunch, then! We haven’t seen him since last summer!”

Hannibal grinned, particularly at Mischa’s vigorous nodding as she chewed. “He’s doing some shopping of his own, I think, with our friend Beverly.”

“Beverly Katz?” His Uncle asked, and Hannibal nodded again, leaving his uncle to contemplate things as he chewed his fish. “You’ve got good friends, Hannibal.”

“I know.” And he did.

“Can we go to the candy shop?” Mischa asked after a moment. “Do they have the peppermint creams, Hannibal?”

“Of course they do!” He said, “What kind of candy shop would they be if they didn’t?”

“Come on then, you can both have a box. We’ll get an extra one for Aunt Murasaki for when she finally comes home.” Uncle Robertas said, and stacked their dishes together, helping Mischa out of her seat. “We should hurry, Hannibal will have to go back to school soon enough.”

She reached for Hannibal’s hand, which he took in his own, wishing her small fingers would take the warmth from his own as they stepped out into the cold.

 

 

Will reached for his wand as the curtains of his bed snapped back, his vision blurry, his thoughts still unclear from lack of sleep. He blinked, reaching for his glasses as the figure that had woken him stepped back from the bed slightly, hands raised. He pulled his glasses on, not lowering his wand for another few frantic heartbeats as he realized it was Professor Flitwick who stood at his bed, dressed in his normal nightclothes, probably busy from grading the exams they had just sat today. Only Transfiguration remained, and with a glance at the window, where the beginnings of dawn was starting to peek over the horizon, it was in only a few hours.

“Professor?”

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Flitwick was speaking with exactly none of his usual cheerfulness. He sounded not only tired, but bone weary, voice thick almost as if he were going to cry. “Could you come downstairs with me, please?”

“What’s going on?” Elton Stammetz poked his head out of his own bed curtains, and Will had to wonder if his theory that Elton never slept was actually correct.

“It’s fine, Elton.” Will said and stood up, wondering if he should put on shoes.

“You won’t need them, we’re just going to the Common Room. Professor McGonagall is going to meet us there.”

“What’s happening, Sir?” Will asked, wiping his face. His stomach was sinking lower and lower, his body feeling like it was carrying rocks. Partly from the fatigue that pulled at his bones from the lack of sleep from the last month. Partly because there was this horrible air about Flitwick, his normally graceful movements nearly jumpy as he led Will down the spiral stairs.

“We’re still not entirely sure.” He said, and Will swallowed, wondering what waited at the bottom of the steps. As it turns out, all that was waiting on him was Professor McGonagall who had relit the fire and had sent the second-year that had been sleeping on the couch when Will had gone to bed back to his own dormitory. Her lips were pursed in a thin line, hands folded behind her back, but she tried to give Will a smile. The deep rooted anxiety swelled, threatening to push past his lips in a stream of questions. But instead, he said nothing and waited on them to talk.

“Sit down, Mr. Graham, I’m afraid we have something we need to tell you.” She said, frank as usual, but her voice also troubled. She took a seat in one of the blue armchairs, Flitwick sitting opposite her, and Will sat between them on the couch, hoping that Professor McGonagall didn’t think he looked a mess in his pajamas since she too still seemed to be dressed from the day. His mind was whirring a hundred miles an hour: Was it his dad? Had someone been hurt? Had he done something?

“We received word at around 11 p.m. yesterday evening that Robertas and Mischa Lecter had been found dead in their home in London.”

Will felt as though his heart had stopped. Like ice was splintering through his veins, his lungs constricted by the coldness. “What?” He said, not meaning to speak. Mischa. Mischa. Mischa. Little Mischa, who told him that she loved him. Who tried to draw pictures like Hannibal did, one of which will had folded upstairs. Mischa, who loved Hooke and always sent an extra treat for him in Hannibal’s letter. Mischa, who had only ever wanted to come to Hogwarts. Mischa, who had been so sick.

“It is unclear who committed the attack…”

“Attack?” Will knew he wasn’t processing things like he should be, but that stopped him. Attack? No, Mischa was sick. Who would attack a little girl?

“Yes. It seems that Mr. Lecter and the little girl were killed in an attack by dark witches or wizards, but there are no leads.”

“Both of them are dead.” Will said, and he watched Flitwick give a long blink, and he knew then that he wasn’t making any sense. Hannibal's uncle, too? How? Who? “Someone killed them.”

“Yes.” McGonagall spoke again, and they both paused. Will closed his own eyes, remembering Hannibal’s smile in November when they had come to see him in Hogsmeade. When he told Will about Mischa’s laughing at the chocolate frog that tried to escape from an old man in Honeyduke’s. And he could feel his chest restricting more.

“What about Hannibal’s Aunt?”

“It doesn’t seem that she was at the house.” Professor McGonagall said, and Will truly wished that he could be happy about that at the moment. “Hannibal asked us to tell you this-”

“Where is he?”

“On a train back to London. His Aunt is meeting him at the station as we speak.” Will felt the first tear come to his eyes, imagining Hannibal on an empty train with nothing to look forward to on the other side. Will still back at Hogwarts, asleep when he could be there. “He asked that you not share the information outside of your close circle, he said that you would know what that meant.” McGonagall let out a long, tired sigh and took off her glasses.

“I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Graham, this is not the first time we’ve had a student lose family. But as the details continue to come, this case is certainly one of the most horrible I’ve ever heard about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think that’s a conversation best had with someone else,” She said, and Flitwick nodded his agreement. “We just want you to know that we’re here for you to talk to. If you would like to go home early, that can be arranged, I will let you make up the examination when you return in the spring.”

“I’ll go ahead and take it,” said Will, feeling very robotic since his thoughts were so very far away. “Dad won’t be ready to get me until tonight anyway. Thank you, Professor.”

And eventually, they left, Professor Flitwick pressing a hand on Will’s shoulder, seeming as though he were going to say something. But the words never came and Will stared at the fire, letting tears stream down his cheeks until the rest of the tower started to wake up and he pulled on his clothes, pretending that everything was going to be fine.


	22. Year 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! Sorry for the delay, I just wrapped up my spring spent in England and things have been wild the last few days! That being said, its been incredible and I highly recomened. Thank you all for continuing to read, and I promise I am making my way through comments (they always make my day!) and will respond ASAP!
> 
> Sorry about the last chapter, wish this one was happier, but ya know...
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

He decided at that moment that he didn’t like flowers. They were too sweet, so heavy in their light scent that they seemed to settle on his tongue and he felt almost as though he were drowning. There were hundreds of them here, laid like blankets over both of the caskets and wrapped in tight bundles around them. Most were imbued with magic, keeping the petals from wilting until well after the funeral, bound with thin strings of gold and glitter that were strung through the holes in the tops of cards and notes of sympathy, binding grief to the bouquets.

His sleeves felt stiff. He liked wearing suits, dressing like the refined wizards who worked at the Ministry and who came to his Aunt’s parties when she was moving in a large shipment of artifacts to sell. But at the moment, all it felt like was restraining. His chest felt like it was being bound under heavy layers of fabric even as a cold December breeze cut through the cemetery like a razor, hitting his face as if it were hardened with a sharp edge. He almost couldn’t feel the cold and had to resist the urge to pull the black jacket of his suit of and throw it to the ground and scream and yell and punch something around him. There was only one thing anchoring him to his seat as they prepared for the eulogy.

He sat between his Aunt who had been largely silent in her grief, tried to make herself open for him. She was changed, haggard looking from her months of traveling, looking for a cure to Mischa’s illness only to be called back after both Mischa and her husband had been murdered in their home. No leads. No suspects. At least, not to the department.

But it wasn’t her, who knew better than the touch him at the moment. He had hardly said a word aloud since he had gotten back to Kings Cross. He had hugged her as he stepped off the train, shared tears and dinners and the knowledge that they now shared a house with far less life in it together. But it wasn’t her, she wasn’t tethering him to life and feeling and numbness and love and pain right now.

Will sat on his other side. He had come early, only shortly after Hannibal and his Aunt had arrived, and had come to Hannibal who hadn’t been able to bear looking at the caskets, adorned with flowers and beautiful things like there was something celebratory about what had happened. What was there to be celebrated, he had to wonder. They could celebrate his uncle’s life maybe. The seats were full of his friends from work and the ministry, the people whose houses Hannibal had been to dinner parties at, who’s children went to Hogwarts and were in Gryffindor and who had money and pure-blood and fashionable spouses and they sat around them in an uncomfortable crowd. But could they celebrate Mischa? None of them knew her. Mischa was an orphan. Raised in an orphanage. She had never been to Hogwarts. Never trained to use magic beyond what her tutors had been able to teach her with the wand she had finally been well enough to get. The same wand that the pieces of were now at the Ministry of Magic, along with his uncle’s. They had tried to fight back, they said. Like his father. Like his mother, who’s wand pieces were in a bag in his pocket right over his chest. Where he would put Mischa’s, too.

And Will had stood there and said nothing, just looked out at what Hannibal was looking out at. Trees and the gentle stream that ran by the cemetery. The last of the leaves that were blowing from the deciduous trees, the small glean of ice that was starting to frost the grass at the river’s banks. And he had simply stood there, not touching, not speaking, until Hannibal had turned to him and clung to him like he was the only thing tethering him to light. Perhaps he was. And Will had wrapped his arms around him, warm and solid and smelling like too much cologne but at least not like flowers until Hannibal had pulled back and taken Will’s hand to sit next to him.

Will’s father hadn’t said a word, taking a seat at the back, wearing his full military uniform with buttons. Hannibal had thought he would be the only muggle there, but only near the end, the woman who had found him carrying Mischa in the snow all those years ago outside her tavern, the woman who had taken them to orphanage, had shown up and taken a seat in the back too, seemingly very confused by the majority of the people dressed in long, dark robes.

And now Hannibal sat, amongst the flowers, still holding Will’s hand, keeping their hands held together on his leg. He had accepted hugs from Beverly, who was crying soft tears and trying not to show it. From Alana who sat in the middle with her parents. Acknowledgements from Jimmy and Brian who had come with Hannibal, another hug from Margot Verger who was here with what must be her brother Mason who stared at Hannibal and then with Will with a strange, fascinated snarl of his lips. Nothing like his sister, Hannibal was glad he had nothing to say and instead sat next to an ancient looking man who must have been their father. And still, Hannibal held onto Will, who held back with some sort of raucous determination.

The service went smoothly, no hitches in words, only positive things said. No loose coughs, no loud sobs, only the same winter breeze that blew white petals off of Mischa’s brown casket, seeming to illuminate the wind. And when it was over, he stood and helped levitate both of the caskets into the ground with his Aunt and some of his Uncle’s closest friends. And he watched as they covered Mischa with the Earth they had dug out, and he had never wanted anything more in that moment that to rip destroy everything in the churchyard with broad waves of his wand. Blast the headstones until they were pieces of shiny rubble. But instead he waited. Until everyone was gone but him and Will and Will’s father at the back and his Aunt and the grave-fillers and he could read _Mischa Lecter, Beloved Sister and a Remarkable Child_ on the stone and he felt his breath leave him and he clung to Will again, no tears coming but simply dry heaves of his chest as his body fought against the truth so hard that it hurt.

 

 

Will stuck his index finger in his mouth, sucking at the little cut in the hope that it would stop bleeding so that at least his Christmas presents would be sterile. It felt surreal, to be sitting in his living room wrapping gifts when only days before he had been at Mischa’s funeral. But he knew it would be best this way. He needed to do these things, not only for himself, but for Hannibal. Hooke hooted happily at him from his little perch, peering down at Will’s sucking his slightly bleeding finger and lifting one of his own feet as if to try to same.

“I don’t think you can quite reach, buddy.” Will said, and Hooke hooted at him as if to protest, hopping around on one leg to try and lift his up enough. Only after he had had tumbled, head over foot, and nearly fallen to the floor before righting himself did he give up on the endeavor. He hooted in frustration before fluttering back up, tucking his head under his wing to take a nap.

He was folding in Beverly’s gift, a new Ravenclaw banner and book on non-verbal protection spells (his goal had been to go for practical gifts this year, though he could imagine Beverly’s teasing note that would accompany both her gift and her mother’s inevitable cake). Between her gift and Jimmy and Brian’s wizard chess players sets, and Margot’s book that he had ordered for her, he had tiny cuts all over his fingers and the pretty blue paper he had picked out was becoming increasingly dotted with red.

Perhaps he was doing it on purpose, to avoid wrapping what was coming next. It was the basket of things he had gotten for Hannibal: broom clips for his Nimbus, a green and silver striped tie, classic argyle socks, and several books on advanced magical theory. He remembered shopping for them, Beverly helping him comb through all of the books to find ones on interesting bits of magic she thought Hannibal might like, his own thoughts on what Hannibal might like to discuss with him. It wasn’t uncommon that they had lengthy discussions about magic, particularly theoretical magic that Will could see Hannibal get thoroughly caught up in discussing into the early hours of morning until they were both behind on homework and scarcely able to sleep.

But it wasn’t just Hannibal’s gift that he was hesitant to wrap, next to them was a copy of Hogwarts, A History and a box of peppermint creams from Honeydukes that now he was completely unsure what to do with. Half of him wanted to send them. Part of him wanted to burn them. Half of him just wanted to vanish them into nothingness.

“What do you think, Hooke?” He asked, the little bird twitching in his sleep. Will sighed and kept wrapping, trying to keep straight lines and corners and everything to give the gifts the appearance that everything was fine. It was only a few more folds that he was sucking another cut off his new thumb.

 

 

“You have gifts to open, Hannibal.” His Aunt was standing in the doorway. “From me. And your friends.” She was leaning against the doorframe, still wearing black, although the robes were lighter in weight than the heavy ones she had been wearing. “You should come downstairs.”

He had to wonder if she knew how long he had been sitting here, in the library, looking at pictures. He liked to think he looked very composed and he really couldn’t think of any reason he shouldn’t (he had scarcely moved in hours), but she knew. She was very perceptive, more than he had given her credit for. But he had come here to be alone and for her to stand there now, trying to coax him downstairs was enough to make his chest constrict with some unknown feeling. Frustration maybe. Rage, even.

He wanted to stay where he was, with his half-finished letters he had tried to write and the drawings that were spread all over the table. Drawings of Mischa, Mischa’s coffin, the pair of coffins, drowning in flowers at the funeral, Will in his funeral clothes, Beverly, Jimmy, and Brian in the row behind them, his Aunt, in her solemnity and her dress. Mischa at the store, Mischa with her box of peppermint cremes, Mischa wearing the Quidditch gloves he had bought Will that he knew she had wrapped and sent through parcel delivery with his books and butterbeer. He didn’t want to move from them. They seemed too real.

But a small part of him knew she was right. He looked up at her, blinking twice before nodding, pushing in his chair behind him to the desk. “I’m sorry for not coming down earlier.” It was nearly dark already, not that that was too late in the evening, but it was Christmas and his Aunt had spent the day alone.

“It is alright, Hannibal.” She said softly, “We have both needed some space.”

He said nothing, because he knew that he needed to say nothing too her, and followed her out to the Christmas tree with all of the ornaments hanging on the low branches because Mischa had decorated it. Under it were beautifully wrapped packages from his Aunt, his Uncle, from Mischa, from his friends. He could see Alana’s immaculately wrapped package, Beverly’s bright green, Jimmy and Brian’s pooled gift that was inevitably candy, and an actually beautifully wrapped box from Will.

“Your uncle and I wanted to go with more practical gifts this year,” His Aunt said softly, moving to sit on the couch. “It is mostly robes.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Murasaki.”

“For what, Hannibal?”

“Everything, I suppose.” They sat in silence for a moment.

“It is not your fault what’s happened, Hannibal.” She finally responded, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was thinking, he knew, the same as he was, about the darkness surrounding them at that moment. The dark magic, maybe, but the evil that had touched them both. Mischa and his uncle weren’t simply dead. That wasn’t enough for these people, and there was a reason the funeral had been closed casket, even after the funeral director had done Mischa’s hair up in the beautiful curls she had always worn at Easter. But it was more than that, he could feel it down his soul. The dark moments of his life, the ones he tried to push so far back in his mind that they meant nothing, and instead they had reared their head as a Boggart in his first year, as nightmares in his second and third as Mischa grew frailer and frailer. It was only recently he had stopped seeing their faces, their yellowed teeth and twisted hands.

But he saw them now. Clear as day. With blood dripping down their mouths from the cuts they had made into his sister’s body, into his Uncle’s skin, and he blinked, looking over at his Aunt as he felt of wave of something he could only classify as renewal.

“No,” He agreed. “But there are certain things I can’t abide.”

“Hannibal…”

She sounded frightened.

“Let’s open presents,” He said, and gave her a smile, pushing down the images in his mind, “there’s no reason not to enjoy Christmas.” And he reached for Will’s, even though he knew he should save it for last.


	23. Year 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! More updates!!! 
> 
> Thank you all for the well-wishes, I thoroughly enjoyed my trip and work in those areas and hope to return soon! I'm applying for another post-graduate fellowship opportunity, so hopefully all will work out! 
> 
> If you ever want to chat, hit me up on Tumblr at the same name, I'm happy to talk Hannibal or other things anytime :)

“Are you alright, Margot?” When Will finally climbed back into the common room, the midnight hour well past and his bones feeling tired, Margot was sitting in her chair, levitating and severing small bits of rope off the table. Three days into the spring semester and she had been unusually quiet, even at Prefect events. Margot rarely had much to say, but she talked to Will, and now even to Hannibal, with far more ease than she did most people. To her credit, Will had been nearly entirely absorbed in Hannibal and schoolwork, so perhaps it was nothing. The semester had hit hard and fast, but that was only part of his struggle.

Hannibal seemed perfectly fine. It was, to Will, almost terrifying. He had held him the past two years as he was nearly broken by Mischa’s illness, had talked to him through his meditations on her life and getting her to school, had gotten the frantic letters, seen the frantic drawings, been there for the funeral when Hannibal had been so stiff as his side he was worried that his blood wouldn’t flow properly. But now, he seemed to not be thinking about it at all. The first night, he had kissed Will so hard he had split his own lip on his teeth and Will had wiped the drops of blood that had beaded there and run along the seam of his lips in watery red. But he had said nothing of Mischa. Or his uncle. Or his aunt. Or of the men he thought had killed them, outlined in pages he had sent to Will over the break, with details and images and pictures. And now, there was nothing. And Will had never been so worried.

At the moment, he felt guilty for not asking Margot sooner how she was, her eyes damp as she looked up at him. She stopped her motions, letting her wand droop in her fingers as he sat across from her in the other armchair, letting the heat from the fire warm his stiff fingers. The castle, though cozy in the living spaces, was frigid in the hallways, and Will was grateful for a return to the familiar.

“Not really,” She said, her voice breathier than usual. “There’s a lot.”

“Is it your brother?”

“Did you meet Mason? I told him not to come to the funeral, but he says he knows Hannibal and it would be wrong not to. Father agreed.”

“I didn’t talk to him.” Will answered, remembering the strange staring boy next to Margot. Margot looked older than she was, easily passing for a sixth or seventh year student with her serious nature and overall appearance.

“You’re lucky,” Margot said, mostly to herself as she looked away into the fireplace, staying quiet for a long set of moments. Will looked to the same place, wondering if Margot was finding something worth looking at in there. Something beyond books and funerals and parchment and death that seemed to hang heavy over him at the moment. But looking at the flames, he saw nothing new, only new bits of bark catching fire and curling over themselves, turning to gray ash that fell down the sides of the logs. “But its my father that’s causing problems, not Mason.”

“Is he trying to get you to leave?”

“He’s threatening to make me leave after this year,” Margot answered, letting out a light, breathy sigh. “I’m not surprised.”

“You’re one of the best in our class!” Will protested, “You’re a prefect, you’re in advanced classes…”

“He found out about Alana.” Margot answered simply. “Father doesn’t see much beyond the old ways of the Anglican Church.”

“Oh.” Will said, and sat back in his chair. He didn’t know what to say, what to think about that other than his stomach turning in on itself. “Merlin, Margot, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” She said, “You didn’t do it.” She looked back at him. “What’s it like to just be happy with someone, Will? Are you happy with Hannibal?”

He paused, thinking about his life for a moment. “Yes,” He said finally, “But I don’t think that means its perfect, it’s just that it’s okay that it isn’t perfect.”

Margot didn’t speak for a long time and Will could feel himself, despite wanting to help his friends, closing his eyes and leaning back against the chair. “Thank you.” She said finally, “I think I’ll go to bed. Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight, Margot.” He said, and wondered if he had actually helped anything or if he had just exacerbated the problem. He seemed to be getting quite good at that lately.

 

 

“Is Hannibal okay?” Beverly asked, poking at her salad while Jimmy and Brian played with their new Wizards chessmen that Will had gotten them. It seems he had chosen well for Jimmy, who had a well-functioning team, but Brian, either because he was bad at chess or his pieces were particularly obstinate, was having some difficulty in getting them to listen and had yelled a move at a knight which Will was nearly certain had just rolled his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Marcus Flint was talking about someone quitting the Quidditch team, I’m pretty sure it’s Hannibal.”

“What?” Will coughed on his bacon sandwich, setting it back down. “When did you hear that?”

“This morning when Flint’s arse wouldn’t move from in front of Astronomy tower.” Beverly said, chewing carefully. “I thought he was doing alright.”

“So did I.”

“Have you seen him today?”

“No.”

Beverly shrugged, and Jimmy and Brian shook their heads as well, before Brian tried again to get his Rook to actually take one of Jimmy’s pieces that was lounging on its sword. Will looked over to the Slytherin table, where Flint and the other cronies from their Quidditch team were eating lunch like a pack of hyenas.

“I’m going to go find him.” Will said, not feeling much like eating the rest of his sandwich. As he stood, the leftovers disappeared, and he set off on a quick pace to begin searching the castle.

 

Hannibal stretched out his legs in the library, sitting at one of the tables by the window, happy to be done with class early for the day. He had, on the table, one of his gifts from Will for Christmas. A book on Occlumency, the protection of one’s mind. He had thought, in a desperate moment, that perhaps he could quiet his mind from himself, stop seeing all the horrors that dwelled within it at the moment, but the stronger part of him had said that was ridiculous. He couldn’t hide from himself. Didn’t want to, truly. He wanted something better, something more important…

“Hey,” He was interrupted from his thoughts by a soft, familiar voice, and before he had turned, he was already smiling. Will slid into the other side of the table, setting his bag down.

“Hello, Will.” Hannibal closed his book, and leaned forward, reaching out a hand across the table where Will reached out his own and Hannibal curled their fingers together softly. “How are you?”

“I came to ask you that, actually.” Will said, and Hannibal could tell that his touch was doing little to soothe him. “I heard you quit Quidditch.”

“I would rather focus on my magic,” Hannibal said, “You know I haven’t been happy with the team for some time.”

“I’m worried it’s because you’re having a harder time with things than you’re letting on,” Will said softly, and closed his other hand over Hannibal’s, leaning his forehead down onto the three of hands together. Hannibal closed his eyes, letting Will’s closeness soothe him.

“I promise you, Will, that is not the reason.” He said back. “And I would love nothing more than to continue our flying sessions in the evening. I simply no longer wish to play.”

“Okay,” Will said, and leaned back in his chair, letting go of Hannibal. He seemed almost defeated, but a bit assuaged. “Do you mind if I sit here and work with you, then? I haven’t gotten to see you as much since we’ve been here.”

“Please do.” Hannibal said, and smiled over at him as Will took out his Care of Magical Creatures book and a quill, making notes in the margins on dragon classification methods as Hannibal watched, itching to draw him. He understood Will’s concern, to leave activities one used to enjoy was a common symptom of depression. But he felt quite the opposite: Not depressed, not sad to see it go. He would miss flying, but truly hadn’t enjoyed playing in years. And besides, as he had said, he had far something far more important to focus on.

He reopened his book on Occlumency, observing the methods for shielding his own mind, and, thinking freely, feeling safeguarded by the exercises he was trying even now, he thought about what was truly important to him. Not grieving, not Quidditch, not is OWLs (though he planned to excel). There were only two things. One was sitting in front of him, running a hand through his own curly hair in frustration. The other was an image of blood-soaked, earth-shaking, perfectly violent revenge.


	24. Year 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops! So this has been a long time in coming, but my week has been absolutely wild. Thank you all for your patience, I hope it was worth it! 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think :) 
> 
> I will be answering comments ASAP!

Will wasn’t sure how the room knew that they needed it, but he was starting to wonder if that was its purpose all along. To meet their needs, whatever they may be. At the moment, it was a place to talk, a place to talk where they couldn’t’ be interrupted by other students, their duties as Prefects, the students running back and forth between OWL exams and dinner and pre-summer activities. But as they walked by, the door started to appear in front of them.

“Hannibal,” He said, and turned, “We should talk.”

Hannibal blinked at him, a flicker of worry crossing his otherwise lightened features. “Of course.” He said, tilting his head and following Will into the room. It was vastly different than it was the night they had spent in it during what seemed to be another lifetime. This time it had a vast window to see the grounds, curved to let in extra light with a perfect view of the Black Lake that was glittering as unknown creatures splashed around inside of it. It had comfy chairs, a bookcase littered with leather-bound books, tables and soft rugs.

He shut the door behind them, leaning on it for a moment as Hannibal stepped in in front of him. He wasn’t sure how to start the conversation, what even needed to be said. How could he put a voice to concerns he had no real voice for? Perhaps things that weren’t his business?

“A remarkable room.” Hannibal said finally, running his fingers over the wood paneling of the table. “Extraordinary magic, really.”

“I think it morphs to meet your specific needs.” Will said, his throat feeling drier and drier as he set his bag down.

“I think you’re correct.” Hannibal said, and turned to him, “You wanted to talk?” He gave Will a small smile, as if anticipating that while the conversation would be unpleasant, it would be a conversation with Will, and therefore productive. Will hoped that was the case.

“Yes.” Will sat down in one of the chairs, watching as Hannibal carefully folded his cape over the back of the opposite seat, hanging his bag across it before joining him. “I’m worried about you.”

“I know.” Hannibal answered automatically, his lips twitching downward into a frown before he gave a soft, almost smirking smile. “You are not good at hiding your feelings, Will.”

Will smiled back, relieved that Hannibal hadn’t been offended that he was concerned. There were moments when Hannibal had seemed only seconds away from exploding, yelling at him or cursing him or worse when he would talk to him. But those times were few and far between, and Hannibal had never hurt Will, not in words or in actions, and in those times, he always excused himself and Will wouldn’t see him again until the next morning when he would come to breakfast either ready to discuss what had happened, or pretending that it entirely didn’t happen.

“You’ve not been yourself.” Will continued. “Not since late January.”

“Grief does strange things to a person’s psyche, Will.”

“This isn’t grief.” Will treid to keep his voice level, hearing his own desperation. “I was there when you were grieving, we could talk about things when you were grieving. You haven’t even mentioned Mischa since the beginning of term.”

“I think about Mischa everyday, Will.” Hannibal’s voice had a hard edge to it, the usual softness cut away.

“I know you do, Hannibal.” Will reached out a hand, wanting more than anything for Hannibal to reach back. “I know. But what I don’t understand is why you never talk about it. About her. About anything of consequence anymore.”

“We talk nearly everyday…”

“About nothing!” Will did raise his voice now, and hated the tears that came to the edge of his eyes. “We’ve only had a handful of real conversations in the last few months, nearly all of them about me.”

“I’m sorry, Will, I didn’t realize that you were feeling displaced.”

“I don’t feel displaced.” Will shook his head, “I want to help you. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re feeling, I’ll understand, Hannibal. You don’t have to isolate yourself. You’re my best friend, my boyfriend, I love you.” Will said, and Hannibal blinked at him.

There were beats of silence, a bird fluttering by the window until Hannibal reached over himself, taking Will’s hand between his long fingers, pressing his lips to Will’s fingers.

“I love you, too, Will.” He said finally, closing his dark maroon eyes for a long blink and Will could feel Hannibal’s breath on his arm, warm at the top, colder as it moved towards his elbow, but he relished that small touch, letting it smooth months of being pushed away bits at a time. “I will try and communicate more clearly, but there are things that I must figure out for myself.”

“I understand that.” Will said, “I do.”

Hannibal looked up and Will could see the happiness reflected in them. “I know you do. And when the time is right, I will tell you all about it.”

He released Will’s hands, and Will stood, taking his bag over his shoulder, again. “Would you be interested in a short walk before Transfiguration this afternoon? It’s a perfect day and we have an hour.”

“I would love that.” Will said, and smiled, wishing that tiny big of nagging doubt would disappear from his mind as he took Hannibal’s hand and followed him to the staircase that led to the grounds.

 

Hannibal sat at dinner, sipping the rich broth of the vegetable soup they were serving, playing his fingers over his wand. Will sat across from him, thoroughly absorbed in his Care of Magical Creatures review for the following day, while Beverly and Jimmy argued over some of the points on the Defense Against the Dark Arts portion of the exam. Brian watched them, dipping his bread, occasionally nodding or interjecting, but Hannibal saw this mostly as an opportunity.

He picked his wand up off the table, concentrating heavily on saying the spell clearly in his mind as he went through the subtle motions. Nothing happened. Letting out a breath, taking another sip of soup to through off suspicion, he did it again,

And this time, he was bombarded with an onslaught of strange sensations. The taste of soup-soaked bread, hearing the room from the other side of the table, images of Jimmy and Beverly arguing from a wholly different perspective. Thoughts of answers on the exam, thoughts of how he should still study for Charms that was the next afternoon, thoughts of how well he had actually done on the Potions exam, maybe enough to continue in the class. And then, to Hannibal’s distaste that caused him to break his concentration, thoughts about a late evening in the back corner of the library with Beverly that was getting more than a bit heavy when Hannibal pulled back.

“Are you alright?” Will was looking at him, and he quickly took another bite to mask suspicion, nodding to himself. In reality, he was ecstatic. In one of the many books that Will had gotten him, combined with his own studies in the library, he had finally been able to enact Legilimency. He had been trying for what seemed like weeks, on first-years, on people in class, on the odd sorts that roamed the hallways, but nothing had ever happened except he had managed to cause one girl to grab the side of her head in pain, and he had quickly pulled back. He had decided it was an essential skill that, along with Occlumency, would allow him to accomplish his goals. Since he couldn’t test his ability as an Occlumens at the moment, this was enough of a breakthrough to make him almost grin around the softened zucchinis in his bowl.

He thought back to his and Will’s conversation. He couldn’t know. Not yet, anyway, but the time would come when he and Will would no longer be here and he could share everything with him. That time was coming, in only a couple of years, but until then, he would have to be discreet and continue to strengthen himself or, when the time came, he would lose Will, too.


	25. Year 5: Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for another time skip! 
> 
> Also, sorry for not addressing the fact that Quirrel died, I couldn't get any traction on that chapter and went with this instead. There will be quiet a bit of canon mixing in the next chapters, I promise you that, from both the show and the HP series. (Not necessarily character wise, but in terms of defining events and character motivations: Think, muggle-born discrimination and murder)
> 
> Thanks to those still readings, kudosing, and especially those commenting. I will respond, I've just been very time restrained the last few days. In part because I've posted several things (please feel free to check those out if you are interested :) ) but your comments are very important to me and I will definitely respond soon! 
> 
> I'm still looking for an artist! Hmu in the comments or on tumblr if you or someone you know might be interested! 
> 
> As always, I hope you all enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

William Hugh Graham has Achieved:

Ancient Runes: O  
Astronomy: E  
Care of Magical Creatures: O  
Charms: E  
Defense Against the Dark Arts: O  
Herbology: E  
History of Magic: E  
Potions: O  
Transfiguration: O

 

Will looks at the paper in his fingers and lets out a long breath, grinning. “That’s a big bird,” His dad said, taking a sip of coffee. “Lot bigger than yours.”

“It brought my OWL exam results,” Will said, waiving the paper before sliding it over to his dad.

“You’ll have to explain these to me,” He said, but Will could tell he was trying to be supportive.

“I could take NEWT level in anything, and I’m, on track to be an Auror.”

His dad reached over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll go into the city for dinner, then. I’m proud of you, Will,” And he stood to go to work, handing him back the paper and setting the mug in the sink on his way out the door. Will got up to go to his room where he tossed the sheet on the bed, pulling out paper to start writing a letter to Beverly about his grades, since he would see Hannibal soon enough. He hoped she had managed her Acceptable in Astronomy that she needed. Since she had used his notes, he thought that she might.

 

 

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Hannibal Lecter VIII has Achieved:

Arithmancy: O  
Astronomy: O  
Charms: O  
Defense Against the Dark Arts: E  
Herbology: O  
History of Magic: E  
Muggle Studies: O  
Potions: O  
Transfiguration: E

Hannibal handed the bird one of the treats he kept on stock for Hooke as it nipped gently at his finger when it could tell they were there. The owl, beautiful and tawny in color, hooted softly before disappearing again out of the window. “Is that your OWL grades, Hannibal?” His aunt was standing near the window, trying a letter to the family owl, informing a family friend that they would not be able to visit after all, since Hannibal and Will were going into the city over the weekend before Will and his father took a trip out to Edinburgh for one of the last weekends of the summer.

“Yes,” He said, and handed her the sheet, taking over tying the letter for her, sending off the owl with ild flourish.

“These are excellent, Hannibal,” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you,” He said, and continued to look out the window. He smiled, his mind already racing. He had the grades that he needed, the grades that he wanted to succeed. This would open every door for him that needed opening his last two years of school and then beyond. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a couple of letters to compose.”

She nodded, giving him a smile that he couldn’t’ help but feel was pitying. But he ignored it in favor of beginning his letters, the first addressed to Professor Snape requesting his class schedule, the next to Flourish and Blotts to order another book in the series of books he had been reading, the third to Alana Bloom, with whom he had been keeping close correspondence, the fourth to Margot Verger who was in much the same position. He felt strange, not writing to Will, but since he would see him a matter of days, he chose instead to smile at the blank sheet that remained blank in favor of the beautiful evening they were sure to have that weekend.

 

Dear Will,

I kicked Astronomy’s arse. Just kidding, of course, but I did get an “Exceeds Expectations” which was definitely more than I was expecting. Thanks for the notes. I wrote to Flitwick, since I can take all the classes I need to now. I know you’ve probably already written to me and that you’ll get this the same time I get yours, but that’s just how this biscuit is going to crumble, I’m afraid.

On a different note, have you ever bene to Borgin and Burke? Or Knockturn Alley in general? Let me tell you, that is a strange place. I saw Hagrid down there, buying some kind of slug repellant, but the whole scene is pretty shady. It seems like something Hannibal would enjoy if you all are still planning on going to London.

Have you talked to Jimmy? He got an Outstanding in Herbology and I’ve never seen someone so excited about the prospect of life-threatening plants. Mum baked him a Devil’s Snare cake, and as it turns out, you can bewitch frosting to make it crawl around. I told her that she was wasting her talents at the Ministry, which she got very upset about since she thought that meant I didn’t want to work there. But you and I both know that for all my talk, I’m definitely a government stooge. If only mum would let it go.

Anyway, I hope you have a great weekend in London, and I look forward to your letter than I know is already on its way. Have you written to Margot? I saw her at one of mom’s parties with her dad and gross brother and I’ve never seen someone look so forlorn. Mum said she looked “gaunt” and I think that’s probably the best, albeit rudest, way to describe it but she hasn’t said anything in her letters. Maybe I’ll get mum to bake her a moving plant cake, too.

With love,

Beverly Katz

 

 

“I got you Pigmy Puff Pistachio,” Hannibal said, and with a glance at Will, joined him in laughing out loud, the words sounding absurd rolling out of his mouth. He handed Will his cone, the thick green pistachio ice cream starting to run in drips down the side while he sat with his own bowl. They were one of several groups on the deck of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, enjoying the late summer evening. While the sun never truly set in London, the city was getting gradually darker, the sky unusually orange over the tops of the leaning buildings of Diagon Alley where they took their break.

“I can’t believe we’ll be on the train back in two weeks,” Will said, his tongue darting out to catch a thick drip. Hannibal, eating his ice cream out of a cauldron shaped cup, smiled at the sight of it, clearly amused.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“You’re crazy,” Will said, hating to admit that Pigmy Puff Pistachio was probably the best ice cream he had ever eaten in his life.

“Perhaps,” Hannibal agreed, tilting his head. “I enjoy being at Hogwarts.”

Will nodded in understanding, knowing what he meant. In many ways, the castle was the only place he could be himself, at least until he turned 17 in the spring and could finally use magic outside of the castle walls. To his surprise, though, Hannibal chose to elaborate, “I enjoy seeing you everyday, especially.”

Will smiled, letting a thick drop of ice cream fall to the table. He did, too. And right now, seeing Hannibal dressed in casual clothing (or at least as casual as Hannibal seemed to allow) with dress slacks and a simple-white button-up shirt, he blushed over at him. It wasn’t as if Will had never thought about doing anything more than kissing and touching like they did now, but after everything that happened last year, he was hesitant to ask. He didn’t want Hannibal to do something reactionary or because he was feeling sad. But now he felt close to him, closer than a long time after a summer of lengthy letters and days spent together. The assumption of their guardians was there, as they were seemingly considered too old now for a night spent at the others hose to be considered innocent, but it hadn’t stopped many late night stays at Will’s house, sometimes simply talking, sometimes watching movies, sometimes doing a bit more if his father had given them some needed and acknowledged privacy. But their relationship could still certainly be considered chaste and Will blushed harder when he thought about other things.

“I do, too,” He said, realizing he hadn’t responded. He reached out the hand that wasn’t covered in melted ice cream and looped his fingers with Hannibal’s. “Did you enjoy today?”

“Yes.” Hannibal said, and smiled at Will’s touch, running his thumb over Will’s palm. They had gone seemingly everywhere, even taken Beverly’s suggestion to go down Knockturn Alley where Hannibal had actually known a surprising number of the people and they had largely been left alone in spite of several characters clearly shady intentions. Will hadn’t purchased anything, but there was something grittily appealing about a lot of the artifacts there. If they weren’t laced with dark magic, he might have taken one home. Hannibal had thoroughly enjoyed himself, and had purchased things from the other shops as well. Mostly books from Flourish and Blotts on Occlumency, which Will found rather strange but didn’t question, and new green and silver school accessories from Madame Malkins. They had lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, along with what Will thought must have been the majority of the Wizarding Community since they were so tightly packed in that Tom the Bartender had trouble delivering drinks and soup between tables. And they had ended their evening here after Will had spent far too much time deliberating spending most of his money on a new broom servicing kit. Hannibal, to his credit, had said nothing about how ridiculous a purchase that might be, but in the end, Will had left it be.

Will took the last bite of his cone, taking one of the wet napkins off the table and wiping his hands until all traces were gone, only the cold in his mouth and lingering taste of pistachios and fairy candy in his mouth giving any indication. “Are you ready to leave?” Hannibal asked, tilting his head.

“I’m never really ready to leave you,” Will said, and Hannibal’s grip on his hand tightened slightly.

“I know the feeling,” Hannibal said, so softly that Will could barely here it.

“We have our walk to the train station,” Will said, trying to lighten the moment. The end that always came to days like these.

“And we will be together again soon,” Hannibal said, but that didn’t stop him from taking Will’s face in his hands and kissing him so hard, catching Will so off guard that his teeth hit his lips, causing a dot of blood. Neither it, nor the surprised looks of people around them seemed to faze Hannibal, who’s tongue pulled the blood from Will’s lip in a quick flick, something about the thought making Will feel nearly dizzy and pull him closer.


	26. First Year Out of Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! We are now at their first year out of Hogwarts, with that being the summer between Harry's third and fourth year to put everyone in the same place. As we move forward, the things happening in the HP universe will become more significant for reasons that will become (hopefully) increasingly clearer. 
> 
> Hope everyone is still enjoying the story! Sorry for the long break between posts, work is consuming me atm and I was inspired to write some other one-shots as well if you were looking for something else to read tonight! 
> 
> HMU on tumblr, I'm always happy to chat about Hannibal and other things! Still looking for artists!!!! 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

He stood in front of the house, late summer breeze blowing over him, catching the ends of his hair that he hadn’t quite slicked enough to stay put. He couldn’t’ help smiling, by all accounts, this had been an easy journey. Not one that he had been able to use magic on, for worry of tracing, but the train ride had not been unpleasant and now his destination stood before him. One of three, this would be the first place he might leave his mark.

The house was dark, much like he imagined his own homes must have been, save for the sole light of what seemed to be a lamp in an upstairs room. Presumably the upstairs bedroom. This person, this thing, lived alone, that much he knew. He hoped they were awake.

He closed his eyes for a  moment, waving his wand as silent spells blocked out all noise, from his shoes on the grass to the lock that he opened with a simple twist of his wand. It kept him guarded, it checked, just in case, for nosy neighbors in the vicinity, for others. And lastly, it cast him a barrier behind which he could do his work. One that would repel the muggles that lived in the area and give him a moment to relish what was coming.

But there were other images, ones that tainted the cold satisfaction of victory that he was beginning on the cusp of. Images of her, blonde hair stained with unnecessary blood, pouring from her as the pieces of her they took left her vulnerable and exposed. Her gaunt face, pulled over with illness, her eyes blank as they had stared at him before they closed them so that he might have piece. He opened his eyes again, no Mischa there to haunt him, only a view of this unfamiliar house and the weight of both a wand and knife in his pocket.

He stepped into the darkened house, not daring to cast a light though his fingers itched to do so, instead walking carefully, though he knew his spell of silence was unbreakable. There were no pictures on the wall, no personal affects. This was a man ready to move at a moments notice, no connection to this place. He wondered if the man had every wondered where his last home might be. If he had ever thought it might be here, in the quiet overlooking Strawberry Hill.

The stairs were narrow, the boards might have squeaked if not for his silent repairs of them He wondered if the aurors would notice that they seemed out of place. What kind of killer might he be, to repair the home of his victims? A unique enough one for his taste.

As he walked down the hall, plain wood doors on either side, he wondered how Will’s evening was going. His field testing was finally over, his first night as an Auror having just started this week. He smiled, he was proud. But Will was too young to be put on this investigation. And beyond that, he wasn’t sure who would miss the man he was about to kill with perhaps the exception of the two that would soon follow. He stopped outside the last door, pulling the knife from his pocket, laying his hand for a moment over the packet that held the pieces and cores of two destroyed wands against his heart.

Vengeance, he decided as he finished, blood spattered over the room in intricate artwork, was far sweeter than even he had imagined.

 

 

Will Graham was drinking coffee when he saw the story in the Daily Prophet. By the time he remembered to swallow rather than read, his cheeks were sore from holding it in, and the overwhelmingly bitter aftertaste had ruined the rest of the cup for him. He looked into the living room of their small flat, where Hannibal sat, reading a book his Aunt had gotten him on famous, ancient Japanese Wizards as one of several gifts at the end of their term at Hogwarts. Hannibal hardly needed gifts, since at the age of seventeen, he had inherited his parents’ enormous inheritance, and could have afforded to move into any estate. By the same measure, his uncle’s estate had gone to him as well, but he was happy to let his Aunt remain there because, as Will knew, he cared deeply for her and the bond they had forged in their shared grief remained strong.

Hannibal had also made it clear that if Will were interested, they might live together. It had taken some doing, finding a space with a kitchen large enough for Hannibal and one that was potentially pet friendly (beyond simply an owl) for Will, but they had managed and lived on the outskirts of London. Will was waiting on the weekend, now that he had finished his Auror training, with a ring in his upstairs jacket pocket, to ask a very important question of the man waiting on him in the other room. And he could imagine what life might bring them together. But his face burned at the idea of asking him, and now, with this having happened, combined with the talks of Sirius Black’s second escape at the end of the previous school year (though he hadn’t been spotted since and Will doubted he was anywhere near England at the moment), Will squirmed at the thought, not wanting Hannibal to answer out of some visceral emotional reaction.

“Are you alright, Will?” He heard from the other room, though Hannibal didn’t seem to move. “Are you drinking coffee?”

Since it was the late evening, Will could appreciate the concern, but his body was tired from late nights at work, and he had wanted a cup. Though now he would only watch in slight mourning as it was poured down the sink.

“Did you read the Prophet today?” Wil walked into the living room, paper in hand.

“No, I hadn’t had the chance.” Hannibal was looking up at him, his eyes soft and his lips smiling up at Will. “I usually depend on you for my daily news, especially since Rita Skeeter has become more involved in their coverage.”

Will swallowed, and sat on the couch, facing Hannibal. “There’s been an attack.”

“On whom?”

“Well, I don’t know him,” Will opened the paper to the page where a man he was certain he did not know, yet who’s face loomed familiar in his mind, moved back at him from an old Azkaban mugshot, and looked back through. “They found him dead in a rental home only this morning.”

“Are you on the case?”

“No,” Will blushed at the look of pride on Hannibal’s face. A strange look perhaps, but Will knew how excited he was for him that he had been fully inducted into the department. “But there’s something about the case.”

“What might that be?” Hannibal folded over the page on his book, perhaps realizing that this was going to be a more intense conversation that he had previously imagined, and set it aside, giving Will his full attention.

“His wound pattern matches the ones they found on your mother, father, uncle, and Mischa.” Will said, “Only his were made while he was still living.”

Hannibal blinked at him.

“There’s…well, there’s speculation that it might be the same individual or group.” Something in Will’s chest sank a bit as Hannibal’s expression went from interest to almost entirely neutral. He knew it was an attempt to reign in some emotion, but he couldn’t place which one.

“They were a group.” Hannibal said in a whisper, his thoughts clearly elsewhere before he turned to Will again. “Do they have any leads?”

“No.” Will said, offering the paper which Hannibal took carefully from him, letting their fingers drag against each other. “I thought you should know.”

Hannibal said nothing as his eyes scanned the page. The man’s picture blinked and turned back at Will, his eyes almost maniacal. Something about him, his aged teeth, his near-snarl seemed so familiar that it was nearly infuriating that Will couldn’t place it. How strange, though, that the killer change methods so suddenly. He must be growing more bold, more crass, to kill a fully trained wizard while he lived, to cut away parts of him for some grisly purpose yet unknown. He remembered when he learned that particular detail about Mischa and Hannibal’s uncle, how he had sobbed in the bathroom of his dad’s house, worried he might throw up in the toilet.

“Thank you, Will,” He said finally, and folded the paper back carefully, his fingers creasing against the long folds. He closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to bask in something with an odd smile on his face. Will assumed he was thinking of Mischa, he acted like that sometimes when something would remind him of her.

And then he stood, Will watching as he took off his loafers and placed them on the end of the coffee table before he came over to Will, and cupped fingers around his jaw. “I would very much like to think of something else right now, if you were interested.”

Will answered by pulling him into a kiss, feeling Hannibal slide into his lap seconds later, legs around his waist, pinning him to the couch as he hoped he didn’t taste too much like stale coffee.

Two days later, Will found the newspaper as he was looking for socks, only the pages with that article perfectly folded in the drawer. Careful not to disturb it, he closed the drawer behind him, going downstairs to join Hannibal for a homemade breakfast.


	27. First Year After Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> I'm back, sorry for the gap, I've been doing a lot of additional writing for both Hannibal (one-shots headed this way soon) and other pairings as well, so this chapter got delayed a bit, for which I apologize! I really love writing this story, thanks to everyone who is continuing to read! 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy, Please R and R, let me know what you think! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr to chat Hannibal or whatever else may cross your mind!

Hannibal leaned forward onto the break room counter, wondering if his hands would ever feel clean. He has spent the majority of the morning assisting an idiot in his attempt to restore a man who’s small intestine had been turned to tentacles accidentally that morning by a child who gotten ahold of his wand. The leading healer had been insistent the surgery required was invasive, and the result was a large amount of bodily fluids all over everyone and a lot of unnecessary screaming and injury that could have easily been avoided with a properly brewed potion.

He grabbed a towel from the sink, wiping his face down before turning to go back down towards the Accidental Magical Reversal Wing of the building. Only one more month, and he would have his full certification as a Healer and he would no longer have to work at St. Mungo’s at all if he so chose. Part of him was thrilled at the prospect, still wanting to have his own practice someday, but other parts of him were reluctant to leave. Though they had little need of it, the money was good and the hours were reasonable and matched Will’s to an extent. The time spent apart was easily apart, but the times he was home from here were nearly always in Will’s company. They had already told him they were interested in keeping him, especially since he had also received offers in both America and France at various wizarding hospital and medical clinics. He thought he might stay.

“Hannibal!” He turned around at a familiar voice, looking up to see one Beverly Katz, grime and soot spread across both her face and outfit, splitting off from a stretcher being wheeled in to see him. He let himself be enveloped in a hug, returning it with warmth. It had been since they had left since he had been able to see Beverly, though Will saw her reasonably often at the Ministry. “How are you?”

“Perhaps better than you at the moment.” He gestured to the grime covering her nearly from head to foot.

“Crime scene,” She laughed, “Don’t worry, we got the bastard. Only one injury, too.”

“That explains the man on the stretcher, then.” He said drily, and she grinned, wand still in her hand. “How is work?”

“It’s work,” She said, leaning back on the wall, leaving a dark gray spot on the plaster-white walls. “Besides all the death and bodily fluids, which I’m sure you’re well acquainted with, its not been bad at all. I just got hired on full time as an investigator.”

“Congratulations.” He said with a smile of his own. Beverly was exceptionally gifted at magic, and he had no doubt that she would be a credit to the department which had been rather sluggish in their work as of late. “Are you going to be on any of the cases I’ve seen in the Prophet?”

Her face shadowed a bit. “I assume you’ve heard about the murder in Strawberry Hill?” He nodded solemnly, feeling a prick of pride in his chest. “I’ve just been added to the team for that.”

“Any leads?” He asked, and watched as her face twisted in personal debate. As a layperson, he should not be privy to the information at all. As the son, brother, and nephew of victims killed in the same manner, he could tell she was struggling not to reveal it to him.

“No.” She said finally, and he tilted his head.

“I am sure if anyone could find them, it would be you, Beverly.” He could practically feel the glow of pride coming from her. “I hate to leave, but I’m needed back in the Accidents Wing.”

“Right, yeah, sorry to interrupt you.”

“Don’t be, it is always nice to speak with a friend.” He said, and they exchanged another brief hug. “If you are interested, Will and I would love to go out to dinner or drinks soon. Perhaps next week?”

“I’ll send an owl,” She said, and with another wave was headed back down the hall to follow the stretcher that carried her injured comrade.

He started walking the other direction, still smiling to himself. It was nice to see Beverly, she was genuinely a dear friend to both him and Will. It was even nicer to hear that in nearly the three weeks since his wrath had begun to be exacted, there were still no leads. No suspicion.

He and Will had received a communication from the Ministry, providing them with safety protocols to follow in case the suspected killers came after Hannibal. Let no one in the house, trust no one with possessions or anything else, don’t stray alone after dark. Will had dismissed the notice rather quickly, tossing it into the fire alongside the advertisements that Brian put their address on to get free publications, and Hannibal had smiled as he watched it burn. Of all the people on Earth, the two people safest from that particular culprit were the only ones being warned.

 

 

Will sucked hard at the piece of candy stuck to the inside of his cheek, still not sure if he liked the minty taste. He was waiting on Hannibal to finish putting a pan of marinating chicken into the refrigerator for them to cook for dinner the next night, the man humming softly to himself as he moved around the flat. It had been nearly three weeks since Will’s initial plan to do this, but the timing was almost better this way. Hannibal only had one month remaining in his residency, and Will had settled into an a pseudo-routine at the Auror office, which, with the exception of nighttime raids had remained relatively quiet.

There were rumors, whispers spreading through the department about greater threats to come. The disappearance of Sirius Black had nearly forgotten in the wake of an increasing number of attacks. Very few, however, were in Britain, and Will had largely managed to avoid the toss-up of dangerous situations that had been created. People had begun disappearing in the more uninhabited parts of the world: Animal attacks to the muggles, but the traces of dark magic were there to see. No leads, only whispers.

The Director of their department had received a rather ominous, unaddressed letter, warning them of the dangers coming and to prepare themselves in both number and talent to fight the coming threat. But there was no more detail than that, and only he, Jack Crawford, and Katie Purnell had been admitted as Aurors from their class at Hogwarts, with the majority of applicants either older or weeded out easily in the process. The department was small, but intentionally so, and Will wondered if perhaps they were leaving themselves vulnerable to attack.

There was rumor, one he had shared with Hannibal, that the letter had come from Dumbledore himself. The handwriting was certainly similar to Dumbledore’s scrawling script, but it had ultimately been decided that subtle warnings and anonymous tips were not Dumbledore style. If the man wanted them to do something in a particular fashion, he would simply tell the Minister his opinions. Fudge was as much a doormat as he was a politician, and it would be a foolish Minister for Magic that ignored a direct warning from Dumbledore. Will himself still held his suspicions. Between the last three years at Hogwarts, first with Quirrell turning out to have whatever remained of Voldemort attached to the back of his head, to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets (and almost death of a little girl), to last year when Professor Snape, Harry Potter, and two of his friends had been attacked by another Professor while Sirius Black himself had managed to get into the castle, it would not surprise Will in the slightest if Dumbledore were to send them a warning. Since Harry Potter’s admittance to the school, the Wizarding World, particularly its children, had faced great peril, and Dumbledore would have to proceed very carefully if he wanted to have any hope of action being taken to remedy the situations.

But he didn’t want to think about work at the moment, he wanted to think about what he was about to do. About the box he had finally taken out of his shoes and put back in his coat pocket before now carrying it on his hip. He wanted to think about the first fall breezes that were punching through the thick August heat, and how they lived within walking distance to the park where he and Hannibal had spent many Sunday afternoons with good books or a chessboard between them.

“Were you still wanting to go for a walk, Will?” Hannibal appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands down with a washrag, drying them from their recent washing.

“Yes, if its alright with you.” He swallowed what remained of his mint, hoping it had translated to fresh breath. 

“I would like nothing more,” Hannibal said, and went to rehang the rag as Will stood, careful to position himself where he could keep his hand in the pocket with the ring so that Hannibal wouldn’t notice it. Minutes later, the door was locked, the nosy elderly woman they lived next to was greeted cheerfully, and the pair of them were walking down the street.

“I forget how cold it can get in August.” Hannibal said, raising his hand that wasn’t entwined with Will’s next to his head, as if trying to catch the wind passing there. “Every year it surprises me.”

“It isn’t a bad thing to be surprised.” Will replied casually, watching Hannibal smile softly as late evening sun warmed his face against the wind.

“I suppose I should be happy then, Will, that you remain highly unpredictable.”

Will laughed, thinking back to several instances of his supposed unpredictability which had included everything from the purchasing of exotic fruit that Hannibal had always wanted to try to radically differing political opinions, none of which Hannibal had ever seen coming. He wondered if that was why Hannibal loved him: Hannibal was highly intelligent, and though he knew he enjoyed the company of others (far more than Will did most times) he found their ability to hold his interest and conversations to be rather lacking. He had told Will once that only he had held his interest throughout entire conversations, and that he suspected that he might be the only one to ever truly do so. Will had blushed then, and he was blushing now, thinking about it, but Hannibal eyes were thankfully elsewhere, watching the odd passerbys since it was a weekday evening.

“Would you like to go eat after we go to the park?” He asked, and Hannibal cocked his head. It was rare that they went out to eat, Hannibal preferring to cook. But Will had in mind other things they might do later to exhaust themselves that had very little to do with food, and hoped he might agree.

“It has been a long time since we went anywhere,” Hannibal said thoughtfully, “That could be nice.”

It was enough of a response for Will, who swung their hands slightly between them, making Hannibal smile.

When they arrived at the park, it was nearly empty, save for an elderly woman walking an ancient looking dog that might have resembled a poodle in its younger years. They walked over to Hannibal’s favorite bench, near the pond that glittered in the fading light.

“Is there something you’re thinking about, Hannibal?” Will said, looking over at him after they had both sat down. “Are you alright?”

“I received a letter from Alana Bloom yesterday, I meant to tell you about it sooner.” He said, and looked over at Will, “She and Margot are moving to Northern Ireland in January, Alana has been offered a job doing psychological evaluations of criminals there.”

“She’ll enjoy that.” Will said. He missed seeing Margot and Alana recently. Since they had finished school, he had kept weekly contact with Margot via letters that Hooke was always happy to deliver since she provided excellent treats. They had encompassed quite a range of topics and emotions, some of which he was highly concerned about. She was fearful, highly fearful, of her brother who was becoming more and more unhinged as their father fell into poor health. But her relationship with Alana had strengthened, and since they were now buying a house, he could imagine that they might be married soon. Margot had written him once, asking his opinions on flowers and ring cuts, but that was the last he had heard. Perhaps, like him, they were waiting for the proper moment. “I hope Margot is able to find something she enjoys doing there.”

In truth, Margot was qualified to do a great many jobs. The last time they had discussed her work, she was dealing in rare magical artifacts through a firm operated out of Scotland which she had seemed to enjoy immensely. But as long as they remained in England, there was a shadow across her from her family. Tied to them by money and obligation, she needed the freedom that a move would offer. She needed a chance to be with Alana out from under her father’s thumb, and thought that there she might something better.

“Many of our school friends are becoming settled in their lives.” Will looked over at Hannibal, in truth barely old enough to qualify as an adult. “Are you happy with ours?”

Will sucked in a breath. Here it was, the perfect Segway. With late evening sun on his face, and their favorite place to be together stretched out in front of them, no one in the world to bother them.

“No,” He said, and Hannibal turned sharply. But he smiled, “There’s one thing that I would really like to change.”

“Are you teasing me, Will?” Hannibal asked, eyebrows lifting. It was a fair question, Will often entertained himself at Hannibal’s expense due to the man’s extremely serious demeanor.

“No,” Will shook his head and reached into his pocket, running his thumb over the velvet box. “Here,” He said, and placed the box in Hannibal’s hand, keeping his hand over it for a moment, his heart feeling as thought it were going to burst out of his chest.

Hannibal kept looking at him, his eyes filled with an almost fear that Will had never seen him show before Will pulled his hand back, leaving the box in Hannibal’s palm. He turned his attention to it, long fingers running over the outside carefully. “You asked me once, in our fifth year, if I would marry you,” Will said softly. “We were sitting in the windowsill on the fifth floor of the castle after the Quidditch match. I was making gold ribbons come out of my wand to cheer you up, and you asked me, when all of this was over, whether or not I would marry you.”

Hannibal squeezed the sides of the box gently, lifting the top where a simple band, inlaid with three small blue gems was tucked. “I thought I should return the favor.” Will turned to him, not getting down on his knee. He had debated that, but it seemed far too cliché. Something Hannibal wouldn’t want him to do, and so instead he turned to him on the bench. “Hannibal Lecter,” He said, clearing his throat, “Will you marry me?”


	28. First Year After Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Sorry for the radio silence, I've just started a new job and moved 17 hours form where I was living in the space of the last week. Sorry for the delay, but I'm hoping that as I get settled, things will pick back up! 
> 
> Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! More to come soon! Thanks for sticking with it!

Beverly sipped her coffee intensely, staring at Will over the rim of her cup. He could see it, in the corner of her eyes upturning, that she was smiling behind the beverage. He could feel her wanting to talk as he told the story of his not-very-impromptu proposal. “So, Hannibal wants a big ceremony with everyone there….” She put the cup down, radiating pure joy. “I was wondering if you would be interested in serving as my best mate.”

She snorted a bit at that, “Best mate, Graham?”

“I wanted to be respectful!” He protested, but smiled all the same. He had told Hannibal the title he had finally decided on, and though Hannibal had seemed thrilled at the prospect of Beverly’s involvement, his slightly raised eyebrows and following silence had told Will all he needed to about what he thought of “Best Mate”. If Will was being honest with himself, he had kept the idea because he knew it would rile Hannibal just a bit, and since they were about to engage in several months of very intense planning together, he thought he might need a bit of something to joke about.

“Well, my answer is yes of course.” She leaned back slightly, and Will’s smile faltered at a long cut that he noticed peaking out of the neck of her coat.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Work related incident.” She said, and winked. “Don’t worry, I’ve had the best of the best look at it.”

“St. Mungo’s?”

“Jimmy’s mom. Muggle doctor, pretty good at it for someone who has to do stitches by hand.”

Will couldn’t help but laugh a bit at that, imagining Mrs. Price, whom he had met several times on her many ventures to Kings Cross for both Jimmy and Timmy, looking at what seemed to be a very nasty cut. “Why were you with Jimmy’s mom, exactly?”

“Brian and I were at Jimmy’s flat last weekend and she happened to show up,” Beverly shrugged, “So, what are my best mate duties? Am I the one that hires strippers? Because I know a group that has a great Dumbledore outfit…”

“Merlin’s beard, Bev…” Will did his best to look horrified, haunted by the image of Dumbledore dancing innocently at the annual Hogwarts Christmas celebration.  “I don’t want a stag party….”

“Then I’m not sure if I should take this job.” She said, shaking her head in mock sadness. “But you know I always see things through to the end.”

“Your best quality by far,” Will said, and there was a beat of silence before they both started laughing.

“Alright,” She said finally, tapping on the table, “Let’s talk pantsuits. What color scheme are we looking at for you two? I don’t want to blend in.”

 

He held the door open for the woman coming in with her groceries, acknowledging her thank you with a smile and nod before obliviating any memory of seeing him from her mind as she walked past. It would be traceless, her memory easily modified to erase a few seconds of time. It was an extra thing for him to do, but that was no excuse for being impolite.

This one had posed far more complications than the first. Of course, this one would be more settled, actually renting a flat. In terms of tracking him, that had been simple enough once he had the basic information. The fact that he lived in a flat in Central London, surrounded by muggles and wizards alike, so many people who could see him, hear what was happening, had necessitated a bit of finagling on his part. But it had been no matter. Flat 213 of this building as not as innocuous as the house in Strawberry Hill, but it would serve perfectly as his second scene nonetheless.

He felt a bit more pressure as he cleared the stairs to the second floor, certain that his protective spells were working now as the old muggle man who lived in 212 opened his door, clearly with the intent to leave, before he immediately slammed it, remembering the urgent activities he needed to complete in his flat that Hannibal had conjured up for him. He would be fine. Eventually, he might be the person who called the muggle police. He couldn’t be sure, part of the thrill of this, he was finding, was that after he left, his moments of pure control had ended. He sacrificed it willingly for his own enjoyment at stumping the ministry so effectively that they were worried for his own safety. And the rush was addicting. The pressure put on him now was not from any sort of concern that he had, but rather that he was now on a deadline,

October 25th. That was the date he and Will had chosen, when the next chapter of their life would begin. Invitations would go in the mail soon, as soon as he told his Aunt and Will spoke to his father about the exciting news. Hannibal smiled as he waved a wand to open the door, hearing a droning of a radio behind the door. The Toadstool Trio, it sounded like, which he found rather unfortunate. Though Will wouldn’t change the station when they came on, Hannibal had never found himself quite able to stomach their poor excuse for guitar playing.

He had to end this before then. He had to finish this chapter of his life, leave his uncle and these demons and Mischa in the past so that he and Will could have their future together. In the nights since he had gotten the ring that sat heavy on his finger now, they had talked in soft voices, curled in soft sheets and each other about what the future might look like. They might move out of the city. They might become season pass holders for the Hollyhead Harpies instead of just going when Hannibal had a schedule break. He might have his own practice. Will, in a soft voice that Hannibal almost assumed he had imagined, had mentioned children. The possibility was soothing, imagining Will holding a little child as they walked through the park where Will had asked him to marry him. But that couldn’t happen until this was finished.

His work was easy tonight. The man hardly put up a fight once his wand was in pieces under Hannibal’s foot, and Hannibal only wished he could have heard his screams that he had silenced as he cut away the pieces he needed, molded him into his vision with the same morbid satisfaction he had gotten the last time. Two thirds of the men who used to haunt his nightmares were gone now, pieced together. He slipped the bag into his pocket, leaving the radio playing so they might find him faster.

He had done nothing so far with the pieces he had collected. He didn’t know what they had done to Mischa. On his next visit, his last visit, to the man with the long hair and the almost-curled teeth, it wouldn’t be over so quickly. He had questions that he couldn’t answer on his own. Questions he certainly intended to ask and exact before Will found the other pieces currently on the shelf of the bonus freezer. The pack in his pocket felt as though it were burning as he walked through the streets through throngs of people paying him no mind. He was curious, he had to admit. He had imagined many possibilities, all of them outlandish and cruel.

But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had the whole answer, pulled out in blood and pain from a man who tried to take everything from him twice. He let his thoughts drift to what that moment might feel like and could feel the adrenaline surge into him like a shot of ice. He was ready.

For a great many things.


	29. First Year After Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize its actually been forever since I posted anything. Between my two new jobs, a huge move, and everything else I have to finish, I've had a lack of both time and inspiration. I hope to get this going more regularly and have a schedule planned out for myself. Thanks to those that are still reading, I appreciate you more than you can know! 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think :)

“They’ve assigned me to the case,” Will said, swallowing a piece of beef tenderloin and immediately stabbing another, not looking up at Hannibal as he spoke. “Do you want me to ask them to unassign me?”

“I assume you meant the Strawberry Hill and Bloomsbury murders.” Hannibal said, waiting on Will’s bright eyes to flicker up to his own, silver laid by his plate as he leaned back, knowing that Hannibal already knew the answer. Hannibal took a moment to contemplate his own feelings. In part, he found it thrilling that Will would be the one following his absentee trail of clues. He was realizing, as Will talked in dark tones of the cases he worked, keeping his sharp wits and humor up as ever, that the things that Will saw did not affect him as much as they did others. That there was some part of Will that might match some part of him that was enjoying the artistry, the macabre design, the careful layout of all of it.

But another part of him, the reasonable part that saw clearly everything he had to lose laid out in front of him, wanted Will as far away from this as possible. He could not imagine, even in the dark parts of him, what might happen if Will discovered and then rejected him. How would he react? What would he do? There was no scenario that he could think of where he didn’t see himself splintering like glass.

“I do not think that the decision should lie with me, Will.” He said finally, cutting the tip off a piece of his own beef. “If you feel that you should not take this case, then by all means, do not. If you feel capable, then please proceed.”

“I don’t want you to worry.”

“You can take of yourself.”

Will breathed out a short laugh, and shook his head. “The Ministry thinks that this killer will come for the pair of us eventually, Hannibal, if it’s the same one from all those years ago.”

“Do you think the same?” Hannibal had watched Will grapple with the facts of the investigation since Hannibal had killed the first of the three offenders. He was too smart in almost every way, to simply adopt the tale of the Ministry that this was certainly the same killer as it had been, simply because the modus operandi remained the same. He had told Hannibal his doubts before shuttering them away again, lacking the necessary pieces to come to the correct conclusion. But he was close to realizing at least a partial truth, and Hannibal couldn’t help the surge of pride in his chest for Will’s clear aptitude for this sort of work.

“I don’t know.” Will said finally, pushing away his plate for a moment before Hannibal stared at the half-eaten food pointedly and he snorted, taking another bite before elaborating. “This last scene was almost too perfect. Whoever killed him thought of everything. Every spell. Every neighbor. Every trace of magic. It was clean, almost too clean.”

“The old scenes were not so clean, then?” Hannibal knew this of course. This was an oft repeated conversation between him and Will. And there were memories that burned still in his mind of blood stained sheets in Mischa’s room, the sticky mess he had staggered through after his parents were killed. They were far from clean, even farther from efficient. Will shook his head, lost in his own thoughts again for a moment.

“It seems you have other news to tell me, Will,” Hannibal said finally, wanting to move the conversation. Watching Will’s cheeks flush faintly, he knew he was correct. It was a reasonable guess, Will had seemed as though he had been wanting to tell Hannibal something for several days until this recent murder had dominated his thoughts again.

“They have asked me to begin training to become a Legilimens for the department.”

Hannibal smiled, genuinely proud, even as his mind whirled. “Congratulations, Will!” He said at last, swallowing the bite of seasoned cauliflower he had been chewing.

“I’m not sure I want to be able to see into the minds of the darkest wizards in Britain.” Will smiled over at him, sparing a glance down at Hannibal’s finger and then to his own that glittered in the dim light of their lamp. “I would much rather talk to you.”

 

“Hannibal,” His Aunt’s hand curved around the bottom of his jaw, her thumb patting his cheek gently before she embraced him. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Aunt Murasaki.” He said, returning her embrace with familiar warmth. He did not feel bad for visiting under false pretenses, in fact, he was quite satisfied that his plan had managed to come together so smoothly, and that he was able to see the woman who had fostered his late adolescence with such care.

“When you have settled, I made tea in the kitchen,” Hannibal smiled and nodded, taking his short bag with him down the hall. The familiar stone manor rang with each footstep, echoing along the walls where portraits of long-dead family members were hung. He paused, as he always had, for the two at the end. The last was a new addition, a moving portrait of him and Will, late winter snow draped behind them as the laughed and spun in circles with the announcement of their new engagement. It made him smile, and wish (not for the first time) that this venture did not mean two days from Will’s side, but there were some things that could not be helped.

The other two were traditional family portraits, with the adults in the frames trying not to move, even as the two children looked round in strange bewilderment. He looked at the sharp lines of his own face in one of them, a battered look still in his eyes. And at the little blonde girl who was next to him, her figure in the frame standing on a block so that she could get the frills of her dress in the picture like she had wanted. His uncle held her two hands up, letting her keep balance as she entertained herself with silent laughter. Hannibal smiled, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the picture.

His Aunt had found it, displayed in his Uncle’s private study, after Hannibal had finished his last year at Hogwarts and had moved in with Will. She had left his uncle’s things untouched before that, searching for the strength to do what was needed. Hannibal did not remember the picture being taken, but judging how thin he looked, how gaunt Mischa appeared, it had only been shortly after they were recovered. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and so much of that time had been lost to him.

He shook himself, sparing Will’s happy form a final glance as he walked to his old bedroom. The walls were nearly plastered with pictures of his own creation, adhered with permanent sticking charms to the wall. The people he had had loved or lost or both, his friends, his kin, his love, they smiled back at him from thin pencil lines that had captured moments between the bustling of finishing school and beginning the life that lay beyond it. He had been drawing more as of late, but they were not the same lighthearted scenes that he saw here. Now they were stained with vengeance, with beauty and skill and an artistry more precise than what came from pencil lines.

The thought brought him back to his mission, and though he knew that he could not keep his Aunt waiting too long, he knew that he had the time he needed. Walking to his bookshelf, he pulled the books that Will himself had purchased him: a full-set of guides to Occlumency, practice for guarding against Legilimency, how to use magical protective spells as a final effort against mind invasion and laid them on the bed. Behind them, he took non-descript books: Hogwarts, a History; books on Quidditch and magical beasts, and with a few waves of his wand, the covers were swapped. With his books tucked safely in his bag, he allowed himself a small smile as he went to sip tea and begin what he hoped would be a nice weekend with the one remaining member of his family. 


	30. First Year After Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Again, we're back on a regular schedule! With the school year starting back, I should actually be back on an even more regular schedule, so here's hoping for more frequent updates! 
> 
> As always, I hope you all enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

“Graham!” He heard his name being yelled sharply, and whipped around to where a rather rough looking Rufus Scrimgeour was standing. The man had stopped walking, his nearly worn-through leather boots dropping at the sides of his ankles. It made him no less intimidating, his presence was one of the most feared in the Ministry, especially with Mad-Eye Moody having retired at the end of the summer before.

“Sir?” He said, letting Carla, the woman he had been trying to work out work group details with, go off without him. He felt badly about it, but he wasn’t going to ignore a direct call, especially from Scrimgeour. And besides, he could find her later easily enough, since their offices were practically adjacent, and both were very, very cramped. An easy thing to bond over in an otherwise insanely solitary work environment.

Scrimgeour was scowling at him, though Will supposed that he scowled at everyone. With his thick mop of hair, he strongly resembled the fake lion that one of the Gryffindors conjured up after every Quidditch victory, and he supposed that with his thinly pressed lips and heavy scars cutting across his sharp features, he was as fierce as one as well. “I have been told that you are the newest member of our Legilimens division.”

“Oh,” Will stuttered, having expected a reprimand for something. Though he wasn’t sure what he might have done wrong. “Yes, Sir. I’ve been on for a couple of weeks now.”

“Tell me, Mr. Graham,” He drew in a long breath, closing the distance between them with two long strides. “Can you tell what I’m thinking?”

Will wasn’t sure what kind of test this was. He had been in the field all of zero times, though he had passed every test with more than flying colors. He knew there was buzz about him in the office, he probably should have seen this coming. He let himself relax, meeting the dark-eyed stare of the man in front of him with a confidence he didn’t posses. His immediate thought was to act like Hannibal, whom he had seen stand in front of authority figures, upset patients, angry friends, and the like with the came cool ease that Will wish he naturally possessed. It worked well enough, and he could hear his heart rate, spiked by Scrimgeour’s initial call, start to settle down to normal.

He didn’t move a muscle other than to wrap his fingers around the very end of his wand, letting the magic flow silently. There were beats of silence, Scrimgeour’s eyes narrowing further still, his mouth ticking almost into a displeased smirk.

“You’re having a sausage for lunch. With onions and mustard-mayo from the cart down the street. The woman there…you know her. She doesn’t realize there’s anything different about you, even though you dress strangely and she talks about it every time you come in. You need to sort that stack of papers on the end of your desk.”

Dark eyes widened in surprise at him. Will took in a breath, daring to continue. “You have a special job for me, Sir.”

“Come with me.”

 

 

“You are acting oddly, Will.” Hannibal looked over the top of his somewhat tattered copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ at Will on the other end of the sofa. Why he was reading, Will hadn’t been able to determine; he knew for a fact that Hannibal had finished it ages ago. Perhaps, with the wedding coming up, he was feeling nostalgic.

“Sorry,” He apologized, and Hannibal slipped his bookmark between the pages, knowing a conversation was coming. Will had to smile at that, feeling a sudden urge to move closer to him that he resisted. Hannibal knew him almost too well, but it allowed them both an easy grace in moments like this, to know when to stop reading or watching or listening and to simply talk. These were some of his favorite moments, though he supposed if he told Hannibal that the man would find that strange. That they paled in comparison to the outings they had taken to Scotland or the week they had traveled to Paris together, and so Will blushed faintly, even at the thought, afraid of seeming ungrateful of those memories.

“I told you about my encounter with Scrimgeour, but I can’t quit thinking about it.”

“Because of your assignment?”

Will had been assigned to interview certain ministry officials and attendees about the recent uproar at the Quidditch World Cup. Strictly under the radar, though he had been given permission to tell Hannibal since he was none of the affiliated groups. It was a small task really, but he had been grilled on the import of such tasks, especially with the recent disappearances. Not to mention his continuing assignment on the Strawberry Hill murderer, who had been strangely silent in recent weeks. Nothing since the second body, not even a whisper of loose evidence. Whoever they were, they were covering their tracks exceptionally well, and Will only hoped they could catch them before the inevitable next body appeared, though headway was next to none.

“No, actually. I told you that my test was reading Scimgeour’s thoughts?” Will found himself scrambling for words and let his words drop off, even as Hannibal nodded.

“You found them disturbing?” Hannibal offered, looking slightly confused as to the direction of the conversation.

“No, oddly enough he seems perfectly normal.” Hannibal smiled, his slightly-turned canine catching the light off their lamp. “It was more my reaction, I suppose.”

“Were you frightened?” Hannibal’s smile faded as his voice darkened with concern.

“No.” Will shook his head, glasses slipping down his nose. “I felt, well empowered actually.”

“Empowered.”

“I’m serious!” Will said, catching the slight tone of disbelief in Hannibal’s voice. “I had never used my skills on another person trying to guard against me before. It was…I don’t know…satisfying.”

“Satisfying.”

“I would appreciate you suspending your belief that I’m crazy until after our wedding, please.”

“I don’t think that you’re crazy, Will.” Hannibal assured him, but now Will felt skeptical.

“Right,” He looked away from Hannibal, “Because this is normal.”

“Perfectly normal, actually,” Will turned his head to Hannibal who was watching him carefully. “It gave you power over the situation, as well as a chance to show your prowess to a person in direct authority, Will. There’s nothing wrong with feeling satisfied or even powerful; I would be far more concerned if you did not, or if what happened frightened you.”

“Oh.” Will said, and leaned back on the couch, feeling relief wash over him. He closed his eyes for a moment, the ceiling fan still spinning behind his eyelids. “Are you planning on reading that book all night?”

He tried to make his voice drop seductively, knowing for a fact that it hadn’t worked since it was clinging that last bit of nervousness. “I can think of another activity that might be a better use of our night in.” Hannibal replied, almost nonchalantly.

Will opened his eyes to see Hannibal standing in front of him, extending an arm to lift him from the couch. He took it, letting himself being pulled into a pair of warm, familiar arms, tasting warm, familiar lips as he let the strange feeling wash away.

He had missed, in his moments of self-doubt, the glint of intrigued satisfaction that had glinted in Hannibal’s eye as he spoke, flitting away as the familiar mask came over his face. He missed it again when he curled into Hannibal’s side after a shared shower, drifting off to sleep with the thoughts of the day washed away for at least a few moments of quiet.


	31. First Year After Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I have a whole list of reasons and an even longer one of excuses as to why this hasn't been updated in so long. The short answer is that since August, I have been through some of the most mentally and personally intense time periods of my life thus far. 
> 
> I'm happy to be back, however, and thanks to all of you still looking at this story :) It's your comments and interest that has inspired me to come back to this in the first place. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr @ewanmcgregorismyhomeboy12; I'm always happy to talk Hannibal among other things!
> 
> Please R and R :) And as always, I hope you enjoy!

He realized that he wasn’t blinking when the corners of his eyes started to burn. He wasn’t sure why. The fear that had gripped him as a child, manifested as a Boggart in his first year, followed him in his dreams colored with blood and tasting of sweat, was gone. It was replaced with a glorious satisfaction, embedded deep in his bones. He wasn’t afraid. 

He was euphoric. 

And yet, he was standing still, had ceased his motions though victory waited at the end of his wand. He supposed he was trying to draw out the moment into a series of personally satisfying ones. Each detail, the unwashed, thin hair stained with blood after their initial struggle. The near-curled teeth that jutted out from a lit curled in an attempt at a defiant snarl. The fear in the dilated pupils and the quick breaths that this man tried to hide. 

He didn’t know his name, didn’t need to know his name. He was missing only one piece of crucial information here, and now it lay within his grasp. 

“You look like your mother.” His voice was as he remembered it. Grating, less human than it should be. “Filthy blood-traitor.” 

The insult slid over him meaninglessly. This man was nothing to him, and beyond that, he had been called far worse by his own colleagues for his relationship with Will. Marrying a muggle-born was an unfavorable action for many of the old guard that still infested the ministry with their outdated ideals. He despised them. But he didn’t want to think about them at the moment. 

“Is that why you killed them?” 

The answer was a nasal breath that might have, in a n average person, a laugh. “It’s offensive, what they are.” 

“I suppose that’s why you killed my uncle as well.” 

“You make it seem as though I’ve hunted down your family,” The man spoke again, and Hannibal could feel the slickness behind his words. How many times had he talked himself out of situations like this? Stalled someone long enough to get ahold of his wand? Or until one of his friends showed up. But his wand lay in pieces next to the chair he was in. “Any blood traitor would do.” 

“Do for what?” Hannibal knew he had overstepped. He sounded too eager. This thing he spoke with might decide it would be more fun to die with his secret. To watch Hannibal squirm. 

As assumed, he chose now to be silent. Lips curling over his teeth now in a self-important smirk. 

“What did you do to my sister?” 

“The little blonde girl?” 

“Yes.” 

“Same thing as the rest of them.” The nasally laugh again, echoing in the small room they were in. A rundown flat, near the Scottish border. Falling apart, crumbling at the seams with its foundations nearly dissolved in the onslaught of rain. 

“Tell me.” Hannibal pulled the knife from his robes. The man started to laugh again, but as Hannibal looked up from the slightly shining blade, the noise caught in his throat and he swallowed involuntarily. In many ways, he reminded Hannibal of a patient before a major operation. Fearful. Fully aware of the danger they might well be in. 

“Let me go.” 

It was Hannibal’s turn to laugh. He stepped a bit closer to the man, letting the point of his wand hover close to him, keeping the blade in his range of sight. “Tell me.” 

And the words, nearly whispered that he pulled from him with expert cuts with biting spells with splashes of blood that he would later have to burn from his clothes, cut down to his soul. But they filled him in the same breath. With a sort of understanding. With a newfound power. 

 

“Hannibal?” Will stepped into the kitchen to the smell of an early dinner. Hannibal stood over the range, stirring happily and humming to himself. 

“Hello, Will,” He turned lips pursed out into a smile as he left the food to simmer onto its own for a moment, hands coming around Will’s face to pull him into a heavy kiss that he happily returned. He tasted like red wine, evidenced by the glass next to the stove that was half empty. “I have missed you.” 

“You’re home early.” 

“I was able to finish my business far more quickly than assumed and was sent home early.” Hannibal said cheerfully, releasing Will to turn back to the food where he tossed in additional bits of garlic powder and white pepper. “I thought that since you had been eating take-away for the past few days, you might appreciate a bit of cooking.” 

“I’ve been cooking!” Will protested, and Hannibal smirked. And it was at least half-true, though he guiltily remembered that the four things of Chinese take-away in the refrigerator at the moment. There was only so much orange chicken one could eat at one time, but he had been cooking all of his lunches. That is, if making a sandwich or heating a sausage roll counted as cooking. “But I won’t complain, that looks delicious.” 

“It is nearly done, if you wouldn’t mind plating the bread.” 

Will did as he was asked, laying the toasted French bread artfully across the two plate-bowls in the cupboard. Over the first, Hannibal emptied one of the pans, adding sauce from the backburner sauce pan. “For you,” He said to Will.

“Two pans for the meat?” 

“I am experimenting a bit with my own. If it is worth repeating, I will make some for us both sometime.”

Will shrugged, setting his down and taking a bottle of home-brew from the refrigerator. “How was your trip, then?” 

Hannibal waited until he had sat down, slicing an end-piece off of his own meal, careful to dip it in the sauce and took a slow bite. Will knew that Hannibal had an immense amount of pride in his own cooking, so the look of almost pleasure on his face wasn’t particularly unexpected, though it did make Will smile enough that he felt compelled to hide it behind his beer. 

“Satisfying." He said finally. "And enlightening.”


End file.
